OVER PERISCOPE POND 

LETTERS FROM 
TWO AMERICAN GIRLS IN PARIS 

BY ESTHER SAYLES ROOT 
AND MARJORIE CROCKER 





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OVER PERISCOPE POND 




Marjorie Crocker 



Esther Sayles Root 



OVER 

PERISCOPE 

POND 

Letters 

from Two d/Imerican Qirls in ^aris 

October 1916- January 1918 

BY ESTHER SAYLES ROOT 
AND MARJORIE CROCKER 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 




BOSTON & NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

(Xbt Stibec^iDe {^cej^jf CambriDge 

1918 






COPYRIGHT, I918, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published April igi8 



I So 
^iY -! 1918 

©C{.A494874 



FOREWORD 

The authors of these letters are two young 
American girls, one from New York and the 
other from Boston. 

They first met in Paris, each having volun- 
teered her services to the Rev. and Mrs. Ernest 
W. Shurtleff, to aid in relief work among the 
refugees, or, as Dr. Shurtleff expressed it, "To 
help in our effort to get under part of the burden 
of humanity." 

The letters were written (as is evident) for the 
family eye only, and consent to their publica- 
tion has been given by cable with much hesita- 
tion. 

To me they are revealing of the spirit of 
feminine young America — a brave and self- 
sacrificing spirit which shines out through irre- 
pressible youthful humor and vivacity, and is 
a worthy complement to the unquestioning and 
unquestioned valor shown by the brothers of 
such girls to-day. 

Clara Louise Burnham. 



CONTENTS 

FoREWonD BY Claba Louise Burnham . v 

I. Fbom Esther 1 

n. Fbom Esther 9 

ni. From Estheb 27 

IV. Fbom Marjobie 42 

V. From Esther . , 45 

"VT. Fbom Marjobie . 58 

Vn. Fbom Esther 61 

Vin. From Marjorie 76 

IX. From Marjorie 82 

X. From Esther 90 

XI. Fbom Estheb 98 

XII. Fbom Mabjobie Ill 

XIII. Fbom Mabjobie 117 

XIV. From Esther 130 

XV. From Marjorie 137 

XVI. From Marjorie 148 

XVII. From Esther 160 

XVin. From Marjorie 170 

XIX. From Esther 197 

XX. From Marjorie 210 

XXI. From Esther 217 



viii CONTENTS 

XXn. From Marjorie 222 

XXin. From Esther 228 

XXIV. From Esther 232 

XXV. From Esther 236 

XXVI. From Marjorie 257 

XXVn. From Marjorie 264 

XXVni. From Marjorie 270 

XXIX. From Marjorie , . 274 

XXX. From Esther 288 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Marjorie Crocker and Esther Sayles Root 

Frontispiece 

No. 6 Place Denfert-Rochereau . . . . 20 ^ 

Women's Vestiaire and Men's Vestiaire . . 24 ' 

Dr. and Mrs. Shurtleff in the Office . . . 80 '^ 

Marjorie and Mrs. Shurtleff, with the Leop- 
ARD Skin 102 '^ 

Esther and Marjorie in Ford Truck . . . 118 '^ 

RooTiE IN Park at Saint-Germain .... 138 "^ 

Marjb in the Salon at No. 12 Place Denfert- . 

rochereau 138 

"Bettina" at Saint-Germain 150 -^ 

Le Cedre at Saint-Germain 150 

Will Irwin in the Garden at Blerancourt . 178 ^ 

Mrs. Williams, Miss Dobson, and Mrs. Wethey • 

in the Garden at Blerancourt .... 178 
Luncheon in the Garden at Blerancourt . . 182 "^ 
The Cathedral at Soissons 186 ^ 

Very Old and Beautiful House at Rote: In- / 

terior completely gone 186 "^ 

A German Graveyard 248 . 

The Am Raid on Paris on the Night of Jan- 
uary 30, 1918 290 ^ 



FROM ESTHER 

Aboard Espagne, October 21, 1916. 

Dear Father: — 

The writing-room is a bower of gold leaf, elec- 
tric-light fixtures, and Louis XIV brocade, but 
it is injudiciously placed where both the motion 
and vibration are greatest, and not even the 
marvelously developed yellow cherub, who holds 
a candelabrum over my shoulder, is inviting 
enough to induce me to stay here long. Not that 
I have n't plenty to tell. I could easily use up 
all the ship's paper in describing the various 
people and events of this memorable week. 

The day we sailed was perfectly gorgeous. 
You remember. Mrs. Bigelow and I watched 
the big buildings and the Statue of Liberty 
slowly melt into the sunset, and then we went 
down to see what surprises the stateroom might 
reveal. And they were plenty. Letters upon 
letters and lovely presents. The atmosphere 
was a trifle charged as we passed the three-mile 
limit, and we all found billets — not so doux as 
they might have been — on our pillows assign- 



2 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

ing us to lifeboats and saying just what to do 
when the signal should be given to abandon the 
boat. Both Mrs. Bigelow and Miss Short were 
assigned to Lifeboat No. 10, while I was shunted 
ojff in Lifeboat No. 8 — a bad omen, I thought. 
We went up on the top deck and looked them 
over. No. 8 looks like a peanut shell — and then 
we looked over the edge where the great big blue 
rollers were beginning to make the boat creak, 
and decided rather hurriedly to go down to din- 
ner. You can imagine yourself what it would be 
like to start off on the sea in a canoe at our island 
when there was a good dash at the rocks. 

Now here is where the Shrinking Violet steps 
in. Miss Short lost her traveling-bag, and was 
in misery. She can't speak or understand one 
word of French — and she appealed to me. I 
suppose you would have had me back coyly 
into the stern of the boat, and say that I did n't 
know the word for suitcase and did n't dare 
speak to the steward. But not so. I went up 
to a tremendous great gold-braided Frenchman 
and linked together the words "bagage," "noir,'* 
and "perdu," by a series of what I considered 
intelligent sounds, and, by Jove, the man — be- 
ing a genius anyway — got the idea that some 
one had lost a black suitcase, and had the whole 
ship's service in action before I could wink. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 3 

Soon the suitcase appeared, and I had Miss 
Short's undying gratitude, coupled with com- 
plete dependence for the rest of the trip. 

This was the beginning of Miracle Number 
One — that is, my French was perfectly under- 
stood, and I understood nearly everything. Oh, 
the joy of having the many hours spent over 
Chardenal at Hawthorne School under the 
vigilant eye of Miss Bourlard or Mile. Delpit 
at college — of having them not spent in vain! 
"Why, one of the Ambulance men told me yes- 
terday that when he first saw me he thought I 
was French ! (Of course, he speaks execrably him- 
self, and my red tam might assume any nation- 
ality.) I order meals, carry on all our traffic 
with the stewardess and deck steward, and in- 
terpret right and left. 

All during dinner you could see that people 
were rather waiting for a shot off our bows, and 
every one's expression was bien presse. After 
dinner I took myself up on the bridge in my fur 
coat and stood alone watching the most beauti- 
ful moon-path that ever I saw. It was cold and 
clear with a fine breeze. *'0 Sole Mio" floated 
up gently from the steerage below. Helpful 
thoughts came to me, and suddenly Miracle 
Number Two happened. I felt perfectly sure 
that we were all right and that nothing was 



4 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

going to happen to the Espagne. I have n't 
thought of Germans or submarines or anything 
since. I slept like a top that night. 

Just as I was about to get into my berth, Mrs. 
Bigelow asked me if I knew where the life- 
preservers were. I had n't thought of them. 
Well, I was n't dressed, and I could n't go and 
ask the steward, so I said, "Go and find the 
steward, and say, 'Ou sont les gilets de sauve- 
tage?'" "I suppose," said Mrs. Bigelow, "that 
* gilets' means 'preservers'?" "Well, not ex- 
actly," said I; "'gilets' means waistcoats, and 
*sauvetage' means salvation; literally, the waist- 
coats of salvation; quaint, isn't it?" "Oh, 
very," said she; "Oo song lays geelays dee soft- 
adge — I can say that easily." "Alors, allez- 
vous en," said I, and bowed her out of the state- 
room. She marched erectly down the corridor, 
and I could hear her voice, — firm, but growing 
fainter and fainter, — "Where are the waist- 
coats of salvation — oo song lays geelays dee 
softadge — where are the waistcoats," etc., — 
for all the world like "Fling out the Banner," or 
something of the kind. It would make a good 
hymn, I thought. 

Back she came with a mute and suffering 
steward. He had understood her and pointed to 
the top of the wardrobe. He was not at all dis- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 5 

turbed by my nightgown, and I gave mental 
thanks to May for having run the ribbons in — 
I feel freer in the French tongue when I am in 
neglige. So the evening ended with a pleasant 
chat about sauvetage and naufrage and the 
amenities of life. 

The first morning was blue and clear, but oh! 
so rough. My head began to feel funny as I 
dressed, so I hurried into my sailor blouse and 
red tam and beat it for the deck. And here we 
have Miracle Number Three. I was n't a bit 
sick for one minute, and have felt better and 
fuller of pep than I have since I was at Bailey's. 
I have been an obnoxious sight to most of the 
passengers because I have run, skipped, and 
jumped (figuratively) while they have rolled list- 
less eyes at me. There were only about fifteen 
people in the dining-room that first luncheon, 
and I was the only woman. You should see this 
boat roll. Really, the Olympic or the Minneap- 
olis would blush at such actions. 

I hardly saw Mrs. Bigelow and Miss Short 
the first two days, and so it was natural that I 
should get very chummy with the Frenchman 
whose chair was next to mine. He has long wiry 
mustaches that stick out at least five inches on 
each side. He is a widower, and very small. He 
speaks French the most beautifully I ever heard, 



6 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

and says lovely things, and makes jokes too. 
When he says anything funny he lifts his feet 
aloft and twinkles them very fast and goes into 
perfect spasms. He talks so fast that often I 
don't understand him, but I laugh just the same, 
and the more he laughs the more I do, because it 
strikes me so funny to be making such a hulla- 
baloo when I have n't the faintest idea what it 's 
about. He went up with me on the bridge for 
the moonlight the second night (Mrs. Bigelow 
and Miss Short were laid out in a tableau barely 
vivant), and we talked French and a little Ger- 
man — he recited Schiller — and I told him I 
was going to France, and he said, "Belle a de 
bon coeur," and we were bien amuses. He is 
French Consul at Montreal, and is going to see 

his two little sons at . 

The next day the captain asked to "be pre- 
sented to" me. He invited me to sit at his table, 
and oh, how I hated to refuse. All the interest- 
ing French people sit there, and Mrs. Craigee — 
that lovely -looking girl that we saw on the dock 
— and I could have practiced French so won- 
derfully. Besides, Mrs. Bigelow and Miss Short 
nearly always eat on deck, — but of course I 
had to sit with them. I was very much flattered, 
however, although I need n't have been, for 
there are so few girls on board. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 7 

There are thirty-six American Ambulance 
men, and some of them are dandies. About 
four in particular are most congenial, and we 
do everything together — shuffle-board, deck- 
walking, afternoon-teaing, card-playing, play- 
ing the piano, and generally exploring about 
the ship. I should like to describe every one, 
but I feel that this is getting boring as it is. The 
foreigners are delightful. Our French newspaper 
man took my picture for his paper the other day. 
He is exactly like a musical-comedy Frenchman 
— he raises his shoulders and says "la, la," and 
wears checked trousers and patent leathers and 
gets so very excited — such gestures ! 

At luncheon the other day there was great ex- 
citement — a wireless for some one, and it was 
for me! From Robert and Harris and Johnny. 
Really, I was so pleased. We were nine hundred 
miles out, and it seemed almost like seeing them 
to have it come. I walked on air all afternoon. 
At dinner that night the steward came around 
again, saying, "Telegramme sans fil pour Mile. 
Root," — and there was a plate of salted al- 
monds with the cards the Ambulance men had 
stuck in it, with all sorts of crazy messages writ- 
ten on them. I wirelessed back a poem as soon 
as I could gather my senses sufficiently, and a 
good time was had by all. 



8 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

It is now Sunday and our last day. It is a 
glorious blue morning. 

There is a good deal of talk of submarines and 
floating mines as we approach France. The life- 
boats were swung out last night, our guns 
loaded, all the lights darkened, and everything 
was preparedness. We tried on the life-preserv- 
ers before retiring, and the dust of ages that they 
bore made me sneeze frightfully. How sharper 
than a serpent's tooth it is to sleep on one's pass- 
port! I have played the piano a good deal on the 
trip. The whole ship is singing "Liebes Freud." 
This morning Mrs. Bigelow and I rose at 5.30, 
and saw a wonderful sunrise. We stood on the 
bridge together, and it was all gold and rose and 
purple. She is a peach, — Mrs. Bigelow. I can't 
wait to land, although I love the ship. I had 
thought of crossing as just crossing; and not as 
such a wonderful time. I do appreciate it all so 
much. Father, and I will write very seriously 
when I get to Paris. 

Much love. 

Esther. 



II 

FROM ESTHER 

Paris, Monday, October 23, 3 a.u. 

Dearest Mother: — 

This day has been so eventful, so utterly new 
and remarkable to me, that I can't bear to think 
of its being crowded out of my mind by the im- 
mediate to-morrows. These experiences in fact 
have been so remarkable and the after-dinner 
coffee so absolutely noir, that after a few hours of 
fitful slumber I seem to be done for the night. 
After I have described this place you will not 
wonder that ink is not provided, but you will 
forgive pencil, I hope (it 's the nice black one out 
of Father's writing-case which I love so, and its 
maiden trip), although I know that writing in 
pencil holds a place with you alongside of mess- 
ing the top bureau drawer and neglecting to 
wear a fully equipped sewing-bag always about 
the neck. 

The last night on the steamer was thrilling. I 
stood way out on the bow with one of the Am- 
bulance men (the nicest one) and watched the 
lights way off on the horizon grow brighter and 



10 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

brighter. We watched the pilot row out from 
the pilot ship in a little boat, and although the 
sea looked perfectly calm compared to what it 
had been, it was like climbing mountains in a 
hickory shell. All dark night everywhere with 
a few flickering lights and men calling hoarse 
things in French back and forth from the ships 
— can't you see how weird it was? 

It was too bad to go down the Gironde at 
night because they say it is a grand sight, but 
we were glad enough to wake up in Bordeaux. 
We got up at 5.30 and looked out on the wide 
flat river, the many boats, and the picturesque 
water's edge of the harbor. We packed our last 
things, had a farewell tour de force with the 
femme de chambre, flew around saying good-bye 
to everybody, and then stood in line to see the 
prefet de police. Right here I want to say that 
of all the fairy tales that were told me, the ones 
about the difficulties of getting to Paris were the 
most fantastic. There were a good many tire- 
some details : I had to show our passports every- 
where, but everything went smoothly, and every 
one was most polite. I wish I could tell you the 
thousand and one funny things that happened in 
leaving the boat. How we hated to leave that 
darling stateroom and the still darlinger Es- 
pagne. You know my penchant for everything 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 11 

Spanish, and I knew when I first heard that 
name at Bailey's that it was the boat for me; 
and it was. 

You remember the confusion and perfect 
riotousness of landing. I managed my own 
things, which in itself is no joke. I had to get my 
stuff together, have it examined, weighed, and 
checked, send my cable, and telegraph Miss Cur- 
tis, pay my excess, and buy my railroad ticket, 
find a carriage, and leave that dock. It sounds 
simple, but with a million people all hurrying to 
do it at once and nothing but rapid-fire French 
going on, — I got a few short circuits that were 
disastrous, — it was dreadful (but often very 
funny) and took nearly two hours. 

The customs inspector was a woman and 
pleasant as anything. I never even unlocked my 
trunk and she just poked at my suitcases. 

How can I describe Bordeaux as we saw it 
through that musty cab window? Low and little 
and picturesque. It was like stepping into a 
stereopticon picture and finding it alive. Little 
houses and shops, with bright signs all in French, 
and foreign-looking people in the streets, and 
many soldiers and many, many widows. Queer- 
painted carts and little houses and little narrow 
alleys with uneven houses, dark and aged, hud- 
dled together with lights over the doors — you 



n OVER PERISCOPE POND 

know wtat I mean — adorable. The town itself 
is quite a place — good hotels and shops and 
cafes, with blue and red and yellow wicker chairs 
and tables on the sidewalk. 

We piled our luggage in the lobby of the hotel 
and then filed into a dismal parlor and faced one 
another over a marble table (for ornament only). 
I was ready for bed and it was quarter of ten. 
The train for Paris left at one — three hours to 
wait and we so tired we could n't budge. How 
that parlor rocked and reeled after the steamer ! 
Mrs. Bigelow said, "This is France." It made 
me think of "As You Like It" where Rosalind 
and Celia and Touchstone arrive in the forest. 

After I had slept a little, sitting bolt upright 
in the lobby, we walked about town. The little 
back streets were so tiny that only one could 
walk on the sidewalk at a time. Even Boston 
can go one better than that. I walked in the 
middle of the street and never felt bigger in my 
life. Miss Short sent a cable, and I went by 
myself into a little shop and bought a copy of 
the "Marseillaise" — my first venture in com- 
merce, and I was mighty embarrassed because I 
don't believe there is such a word as "copie" 
anyway, but I got it and was pleased to death 
to have actually achete-ed something. 

It did n't seem long until train-time, and we 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 13 

got into crowded but comfortable first-class 
carriages. After our elaborate good-byes, we 
found nearly every one from the steamer on the 
train, the Ambulance men and everybody. In 
our compartment there were a very fat French 
woman, a young girl, and her maid. The young 
girl — I had planned to spend hours in describ- 
ing her, but I can't stop now. I'll just say she 
was Elsie Ferguson in "The Strange Woman," 
and let you picture her. The prettiest, most 
charming, and warmest creature I ever met. It 
was the first time I had heard a girl speak high 
French. There were no French women on the 
boat, you remember, and it was like music. The 
country we passed was the prettiest I've ever 
seen, more perfect than England even. So many 
poplars, and hills, — and such houses. There 
were acres of vineyards and lovely farms and 
with autumn foliage, — fainter than ours, of 
course, — lovely yellows and reds, and leaves 
dropping, and blue mists and more poplars, it 
was like a dream-land. 

It was a long trip, but the steamer people vis- 
ited back and forth and bought things at the 
stations and stood in the corridors and talked, 
and it did n't seem long. The fat French woman 
joined our conversation after the French girl got 
out at Poitiers — I must tell you that she is 



14 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

married and her husband is an officer and has 
just recovered from being badly wounded. She 
is going to find out on Sunday if he has to go 
back, because, you see, he'll never be strong 
again, and she is praying that he'll be reforme 
for good. Oh, she does seem to love him so. If he 
is n't reforme he'll have to go back to the front. 
She is so brave and so beautiful! 

Well, after she got out, a nice old Frenchman 
got in and a typical Englishman (who spoke 
French) and we had the most wonderful time. 
Of course we did n't speak at first, but the fat 
woman and I would say things across the com- 
partment to one another and they would oiffer a 
remark now and then, until we all got to talking. 
I shall have to write some of these things down, 
I fancy. I'd hate to forget them. I thanked 
Heaven for the 'steenth time for my French, 
which is a bruised reed, right enough, but a per- 
fect joy just the same. 

I was expecting to fall into Miss Curtis's arms, 
but it would have been an empty fall, for she 
was n't there. I did n't know, when I wired her, 
that there were two stations, so I suppose she 
did n't know which to choose. I could have gone 
with Mrs. Bigelow and the others, but I thought 
Miss Curtis would have engaged a room for me 
here, so I wanted to try this place, anyway. One 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 15 

of the Ambulance men, Mr. Baxter, offered to 
bring me here and see me installed. There were 
no taxis left, and it was still drizzling, and you 
know my luggage, — the eleventh hour Altman 
winter flannels boiling out of the carryall with 
price-marks dangling and soiled from constant 
exposure, — and me tired and dirty with the 
ship still going round in my head, standing alone 
by a dark and empty cabstand at 10.30 p.m. in 
Paris, the unknown. The others all rattled off, 
and Mr. Baxter disappeared to find a taxi, and 
I sidled up behind a big French soldier for com- 
fort. I saw the fat French woman to say good- 
bye and thanked her for being so bien gentille 
to me. I told her that "elle m'avait fait senter 
la bien venue en France,'* which was rotten 
French, and she said, "Mais Mile, est si aim- 
able." I could have hugged her, and I felt as 
though she were a great big mother, twice, three 
times, your size. Mother. 

Mr. Baxter manufactured a taxi out of noth- 
ing and we bundled in the bag and baggage 
without any idea how far our place was from the 
Quai d'Orsai. It was nice to be on terra-cotta — 
to be in a place where you don't have to show 
your birth certificate before you can order an 
egg, as he said. The only thing that any one has 
told me that's true is that Paris is dark. I don't 



16 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

see how the taxi-men can drive at all. We rat- 
tled along, and finally came to a street that 
looked like a tunnel — a faint light at the other 
end — that's all. At the very blackest point we 
stopped, the driver said, "C'est I'hotel," and by 
the light of a match we could see a black sign 
with gold letters beside a door that looked like 
the door of a stable, saying that, indeed, it was 
H6tel des St. Peres — but oh, so dark. It looked 
as though Louis Treize's sub-valet de chambre 
had boarded it up and gone away and that no 
one had ever been there since. We knocked and 
knocked, and after ages we heard a shuffling 
step and the great black doors swung open. 
There stood the sleepiest, wall-eyed person, al- 
most entirely covered by a big spotted butcher's 
apron. I asked in uncertain tones if they had 
place for Miss Root, and he shook his head and 
I asked if he knew Miss Curtis, and he said no, 
and then I asked if I could get a room. It was 
the most awful-looking place. I did n't know 
just what to do. He made for a dark flight of 
stairs, — the janitor, I mean, — and I started to 
follow him. I asked Mr. Baxter if he supposed 
the janitor was a concierge, and he told me that 
jardiniere was the nearest he could get to it. Up- 
stairs we went on dark-red carpet, past maroon 
walls — up and up and up. Very high ceilings 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 17 

and long black corridors. Finally he opened a 
room on the fourth floor, and it looked clean, 
and I said I'd stay. I went down to get my 
things and to thank Mr. Baxter for being so 
kind. I should have been so forlorn all alone. 
So he drove off to the Ambulance Headquarters. 
I could hear the taxi going off down the street 
and the "jardiniere" tumbling over my bags. I 
do think American men are wonderful! 

We climbed again to this eyrie and he wished 
me "bon soir." Again I was so glad for French 
because, as he was turning down my bed, — I 
told him that "je viens de venir d'Amerique," 
and that I did not wish "que Ton me reveille." 
He was quite genial and said good-night all over 
again. 

My room is the queerest of the queer. There 
is a worn red carpet with rainbow figures, the 
paper is green and yellow striped — mild, but 
incontestably green and yellow. The ceiling is 
slanted and I have one dormer window. There 
is a marble mantelpiece and a huge bed; also a 
marble washstand, which I feel must be a bit 
of ornamentation looted from Napoleon's tomb. 
I looked out of the window, but it's perfectly 
black. There may be a blank wall six inches 
away, or a court or a forest of trees or almost 
anything for all I can see. I stood in the middle 



18 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

of the room with my hands on my hips and 
looked around and smiled. There was my own 
fur coat which is Northampton to me, and my 
black sweater which is Bailey's, and my suit- 
cases and myself — all of us dropped into this 
garret room. 

When I went to lay my weary — oh, so weary 
— bones between the sheets, I found the latter 
to be fashioned apparently out of heavy canvas. 
It was like nesthng down between two jibs of the 
good swordfisher, "Edmund Black." The pillow 
is enormous and uncompromising — my own lit- 
tle baby pillow Mrs. Bigelow put in her trunk 
for me. Still, as I describe them, they look very 
good to me and I think I'll go back to them. It 
is getting light, I think, and pouring rain, I'll 
try looking out again. 

Tuesday. 

I have seen it! I have seen it! Paris is the 
most romantic place in the world. Talk about 
London! Oh, I never shall forget this afternoon. 
I went to sleep almost before I stopped writing 
the above in pencil and never woke up until 
twelve o'clock. I asked the femme de chambre 
whether or not any one had called for me, think- 
ing Miss Curtis might have tried to find me, and 
she said that I had had two telephone calls, and 
that a young gentleman had been here in a taxi. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 19 

It was Mr. Baxter, of course, because he said he 
would take me back to the Quai d'Orsay and 
help me with my trunk and customs and prefect 
of police; and there, they'd told him that I was 
asleep, and not to be waked up ! I felt hopeless 
at the thought of having to go by myself without 
any idea of what to do! I suppose Mrs. Bigelow 
may have called me up. I had no idea of Miss 
Curtis's whereabouts and I knew that the Shurt- 
leff s are at their headquarters all day long and I 
had no idea where that was, and I knew that 
Mrs. Bigelow was at the other end of Paris and 
could n't help me even if I did see her. 

I did n't feel like lunch, so I took the map of 
Paris and went out in the dripping streets with 
no umbrella. I was so confused and so embar- 
rassed with my map, which I did n't dare open; 
I felt that people were staring at me, and my 
rubbers and umbrella were in my trunk and my 
coat and hat and feet were soaking. I just wan- 
dered along and finally came to a taxi. I decided 
to go to Mrs. ShurtleJBF's house, whether she was 
in or not. So I said, 6 Place Denfert-Rochereau, 
and got out at a big apartment house. I walked 
in, and there was no elevator boy or telephone 
girl or anything, so I rang at the first apartment 
and asked for Dr. Shurtleff. The maid said he 
was n't there, and I asked if she could tell what 



20 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

apartment he lived in and she said she did n't 
know; finally her face lighted up and she showed 
me into a little parlor and said, *' You come for a 
consultation! I'll go and get the doctor." Heav- 
ens and earth, I'd stumbled into a physician's 
office. I said, "No, no!" and went out. I 
thought I'd have to ring at all the apartments 
to find the Shurtleffs, but I found a concierge, 
tremendously en neglig6, who pointed to a little 
elevator and said, "third floor." I got in expect- 
ing to be followed, but bang went the doors with- 
out apparently word or sign from any one and up 
I shot. Up and up; and I was scared to death. I 
felt sure I was going through the roof; but even- 
tually we stopped and I got out and rang at the 
first bell to the left, as I'd been told. No answer; 
I rang and rang; still no answer. I gathered that 
they were at the headquarters, so I sat down on 
the top step of the stair and wrote on the back 
of my visiting card that I was at the Hotel des 
St. Peres. I was a little discouraged, because it 
meant that I would have to wait at the hotel un- 
til some one could call or write. In the mean time 
the lift was standing inert and I could n't make 
it go down — of course, I would n't have gone 
down in it myself for the gross receipts. I could 
hear people ringing wildly down below and 
pretty soon a man came leaping up the stairs, I 



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OVER PERISCOPE POND 21 

asked in my prettiest French if he could make 
the thing go down, and he could n't any more 
than I. He started to go into an opposite apart- 
ment, and as the door opened I heard some one 
greet him in English. I jumped up; it was the 
first English I'd heard since the others had left 
me. I rushed forward and almost put my foot 
in the door, for I was desperate. I asked the 
woman who had spoken, one of the most beauti- 
ful women I ever saw, if she knew where Dr. 
Shurtleflf lived. She said, *'I am Mrs. Shurtleff. 
Why, you must be Miss Root." And she threw 
both her arms around me and pulled me into 
their living-room. There were Miss Curtis and 
Dr. Shurtleff and a blazing wood-fire. If that 
was n't heaven on earth to me, I should be un- 
grateful to admit it. We talked and talked, and 
oh, but I was glad to see them! They never 
had received my telegram and the Espagne had 
not been announced in Paris, the concierge tad 
directed me to the wrong apartment, but now 
everything was straightened out. It just hap- 
pened that they were taking an afternoon off, 
the Shurtleff s, that is; the others left very soon. 
I had n't had anything to eat since on the train 
the night before, and I felt weak and horrid, and 
everything still rocked; so Mrs. Shurtleff gave 
me hot tea and nut bread and cold chicken, and 



22 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

warmed me through and through. She is an 
angel; she looks like one of the old Gibson draw- 
ings, — beautiful, and so charming and enthu- 
siastic, and much younger, too, than I had 
thought, with light-brown hair and blue eyes 
and pink cheeks. 

The first thing to decide was where I should 
live permanently, and Mrs. Shurtleff took me 
that afternoon to two pensions, the best and 
nearest to the work. One was very near, just 
across a little green square from the Shurtleffs'. 
The other was on an adorable little street in the 
old Latin Quarter, where all the painters from 
time immemorial have lived. It was dark, and 
no conveniences, no heat, no running water, and 
no bathtub in the whole house. But I peeped 
into one of the rooms and there was a wood-fire 
singing so adorably, and a lovely mantelpiece 
and gold mirror, and a piano with candles. That 
was nine francs a day, and although much more 
inconvenient and far-away, I wanted to go there. 
The cook showed us around and I promised to 
call on Wednesday and see the landlady. 

After that Mrs. Shurtleff took me to do an 
errand — and I saw Paris for the first time. I 
think that the Seine, and the bridges, and lines 
of straight trees are the most beautiful things 
I've ever seen. We looked up the Champs Ely- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 23 

s6es as the sun was setting and the Hghts were 
beginning to twinkle through a violet haze. It 
was like a dream city. I sat on the extremest 
edge of the seat in the taxi gazing and gazing at 
everything. Mrs. Shurtleff delighted in my de- 
light, and she said it made her live again the 
enthusiasm and wonder that she felt when she 
came here ten years ago. So many queer things 
I noticed that she grew used to years ago; the 
door-handles in the middle of the doors, the 
lamp-posts in the middle of the sidewalks, and 
funny quaint little things like that. We saw a 
trolley-car marked "Bastille," and I burst out 
laughing. Why, it seemed like marking the 
ugliest, most ordinary or modern thing "Guil- 
lotine" or "Robespierre"! Think of getting a 
transfer or "watching your step" going to the 
Bastille. 

I went to the Vestiaire yesterday morning 
where I am to work. It is wonderfully interest- 
ing. All kinds of clothing are piled everywhere 
and there is an oflSce where people apply, and 
everything is very business-like. The refugees 
are pathetic to the last degree, and already I 
have seen many, many people, and heard of 
cases, that I could n't believe existed in the 
world. I have n't done any real work yet; but 
here is something I want to tell you. We need 



24 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

everything, particularly warm things, blankets; 
and big wide shoes above everything. I saw men 
turn away some people to-day, and I tell you 
I'd like to snatch these bedclothes out of the 
hotel and go find old people and give them to 
them. But any kind of clothes! I saw a pile of 
sticks, about a hundred, stored in the corner, and 
I asked Mrs. Shurtleff what they were for and 
she said for the blind. They can't afford to buy 
them. Think of being blinded and then not 
being able to afford a few pennies to buy a cane. 

I find that Paris is much more alive and happy 
than I had expected, although the individual 
cases are so very hard. 

I have decided on my pension, and I like Mme. 

H . My room certainly is comfort itself, for 

Paris, with lovely sunlight and trees and a park 
below. I move in November 4th, and I am glad 
to have it settled. Living is so expensive that 
many of the best pensions have had to close, so 
I feel I am wonderfully lucky. 

Yesterday afternoon I covered about twelve 
acres of streets and buildings in fulfilling various 
official formalities, and now call all the prefects 
of police by their first names. I had no trouble, 
but it is tedious to go from one place to another. 
My oflScial title on the Paris register is now "De- 
moiselle de Vestiaire," and as that can refer both 



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OVER PERISCOPE POND 25 

to relief work and to check girls in restaurants, I 
can give up one any time for the other. 

I went to the station and brought my trunk 
here. I had dinner with Mrs. Bigelow, and we 
just fell on each other's necks and could n't 
seem to let go. Those two days of separation 
have been pretty long. We went to church to 
the Wednesday evening meeting. We could hear 
them singing "Abide with Me" as we came up 
the street, and it was the first note of music that 
I had heard in many a long day, except what 
I played myself on the steamer. My heart just 
swelled up, and when we got in and sang the 
third verse, the tears were rolling down our 
cheeks. It was a wonderful service. 

The sun shines to-day for the first time, and 
I have been out with my trusty map. You see 
such vital little scenes in the street — two girls 
poring over a letter from the front, and giggling 
and teasing each other; a little girl with tight 
black pig-tails, bare legs and socks, a full black 
cape, and a basket under her arm, standing on 
tippey-toes to ring an old bronze bell; a widow 
walking along with a little child, watching with 
an inscrutable expression a car full of soldiers 
starting for the front; a group of poor people, 
market-women, old men, and children, pressing 
closely around a sign-poster who is posting up a 



26 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

list, "Morts pour la Patrie." Many times you 
see the signs: "Don't talk, be careful, enemy ears 
are listening." Oh, this country is at war, but I 
can't tell you the inspiration that seems to be in 
the very streets. And it is so beautiful when I 
think that I am really to live here, to be chez 
moi, and have my own books and pictures and 
perhaps some plants, and be able to go about 
and see these things. I can't tell you how happy 
I am. If the Statue of Liberty ever wants to see 
me again, she will have to turn a complete back 
somersault. 

I send love home in bushels. There have been 
moments in these last few days! But never for 
one breath have I wished that I had n't set out, 
and now with my pension settled, my permis de 
sejour granted by the police, my trunk by my 
side, my work fairly started, the Shurtleffs per- 
fectly wonderful, and Mrs. Bigelow at hand and 
happy, why, nothing could be happier than I 
am. And I never can thank you enough for let- 
ting me come. My one trouble now is writer's 
cramp, so I must stop before I am too paralyzed 
to address the envelope! 

Do write me. 

Love to you all. 

Esther. 



Ill 

FROM ESTHER 

Paris, November 26, 1916. 

Dearest Mother: — 

My literary style may be a trifle affected by 
Baedeker, but I hope the following details will 
not seem as dry as sawdust to you, for they are 
the very air I breathe daily. 

At the beginning of the war the French Gov- 
ernment declared a moratorium, which is the 
suspension of rent payments for every one in 
Paris paying a rent of less than two thousand 
francs or possibly three thousand francs. With 
practically all the men mobilized, many fam- 
ilies would have starved but for this provision. 
The wives or widows of soldiers are given a reg- 
ular income by the French Government called 
"allocation," — one franc twenty-five centimes 
a day and seventy-five centimes for each child. 
The soldiers themselves get five sous a day (for- 
merly three sous), which barely enables them to 
get necessities and soap and tobacco, etc. 

"Chaumage" is money given to woman refu- 



28 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

gees if they have no men fighting. One franc 
twenty-five centimes a day for all over sixteen 
not working (mothers of little children, invalids, 
blind, etc.), and fifty centimes for children. 
There is a special old-age pension for men and 
women over sixty. In addition to these pensions 
there are committees — Comite Franco-Beige, 
Comite de la Marne, Secours des Meusiens, etc., 
who help refugees by giving money and clothes 
to special cases. They are so swamped with 
demands, however, that they cannot do much. 
It is a marvel to me what they and the French 
Government can do and what complication of 
financial adjustment is apparently carried on 
successfully. Where does the money come from 
to finance this war.'* 

Perhaps it would seem that considering the 
chaumage, the refugees are nearly as well off as 
the Parisians, but I assure you it is not so: the 
moratorium makes a vast difference, and, above 
all, the strangeness of Paris, ignorance of where 
to find places to live and work, ill health often 
contracted from the hardships of the way down 
and the frightful shock of living through bom- 
bardment. Many of them, you see, were fairly 
well off in Rheims or Lille or Maubeuge, or 
wherever they came from, and had to flee with 
only the clothes they had on their backs. The 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 29 

people who try to do much with little and live 
up to their former way of living appeal to my 
sympathy more than the most squalid who 
really have the greatest misery. 

We have found that people can get a furnished 
room for thirty centimes a day and up. Awful 
little rooms, dens of darkness and disease, can 
be found (only occasionally, praise be) for three 
francs a week; but I can't consider those. I saw 
one yesterday — a mother and two little girls 
live there, and it was about the size of the cabin 
in our motor-boat, but made the latter seem vast 
and airy by comparison. With the prices of food 
and coal high, and constantly soaring, the poor 
people can just make out their rent and food, but 
cannot buy clothes. Shoes are thirty francs and 
up. You can figure it out for yourself. With our 
help, however, many, many poor families can 
get along that would otherwise be destitute. 
Sometimes we can give a girl a suit which will 
enable her to present herself for a far better po- 
sition than she could hope to obtain in rags. 
Sometimes boys can go to school if they have 
warm new shoes, a black apron, and an overcoat, 
when without them they would stay at home 
and shiver in idleness. Warm strong clothing 
not only gives a new lease to health, but to life 
as a whole. You should see the little girls when I 



30 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

give them a hair-ribbon or a dress for their doll, 
if they have one. 

I have gathered a lot of old stuff that I found 
at the Vestiaire and have brought it home and 
ironed it out and cut it up fresh and given it 
away to all sorts of little "fillettes." I do believe 
in the trimmings even for the most wretched, 
especially if they're kids, and I am glad to say 
that Mrs. Shurtleff does, too. We have a box of 
tinsel favors filled with tiny bonbons that we 
give to the littlest, if they are restless while their 
parents are being accommodated. The other day 
we had a little angel of less than two, a small 
refugee from Rheims with its father and mother. 
Her ears were pierced and supported tiny ear- 
rings. When in this war-time any one had the 
time and inclination to pierce that child's ears is 
one on me! Her father left our part of the Ves- 
tiaire a few minutes to be fitted to an overcoat 
in the men's department, and the child began to 
howl. I took it in my arms and rushed it after 
its father as fast as I could go. Then all was 
serene again. In some cases we go so far as 
to move families from crowded, dirty, unsavory 
quarters to as clean and as airy a place as we can 
find in proportion to their income. We then 
guarantee their rent for three months and help 
them to furnish. This is all in the hands of the 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 31 

installation department, and I have nothing to 
do with that, so I cannot tell you as much as I 
would like to. 

The field work is the visiting and investigation 
of applicants. The war work of the Students 
Atelier Reunions has become known by word 
of mouth among the refugees. Of course, the 
reports and results of our work travel like wild- 
fire and we are inundated with requests. After 
receiving a letter from a refugee the case is 
looked up by two field workers and reported at 
a meeting of the committee the following Satur- 
day morning. A vote is taken as to what to do 
and how much to give if it is decided to give any- 
thing. The people are then told to present them- 
selves at the Vestiaire and we give them what 
they need. Every type of man, woman, and 
child has crossed our threshold even within my 
month of service. How I love them all! 

I try to get each story as I measure the person 
and search the stock and try on and tie up and 
list. Mother would die to see me, who have 
never known anything more about children than 
that they belonged to the animal kingdom and 
were awful little monkeys and might better ap- 
proach more nearly the vegetable kingdom, even 
if they were darlings — to see me tell some 
mother of ten that "her little Yvonne is large 



32 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

for eight," or that "Renaud has small feet for a 
boy of twelve." It is I who measure and mark 
children's clothes as they are sent to us, accord- 
ing to age, and in centimeters at that. I have 
been driven to ascertaining my own waist meas- 
ure by the same rating and now go about heavily 
veiled. 

My good fortune has been to be made one of 
the field workers and I go with either Miss Cur- 
tis or Miss Sturgis every Monday and Wednes- 
day. Two always go together because, until we 
have been to a place once, we don't know what 
we are getting into, and it would be foolish to go 
alone way to the back of the top of these big 
dark buildings without knowing what sort of peo- 
ple lived there. In their homes you do see the 
people chez eux. We see the extremes of cleanli- 
ness and filth, thrift and abjectness. I shall not 
stop to describe individual homes now, but I can 
tell you some of them are rare. In one home of 
about the same stratum as the Russian family 
Mother and I visited last Christmas, I stepped 
gingerly among the rags, coal-dust, food, and so 
forth on the floor, and went and sat beside the 
dirtiest but the darlingest child you ever saw, 
• — blue eyes with black lashes, which always 
get me, you know, — but its nose running fear- 
fully. Miss Curtis did the questioning, but I in- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 83 

terrupted every three minutes to beseech the 
mother to wipe the offending organ. I jfinally 
learned that the child ought to have an opera- 
tion, but it is only twenty-five months old and 
the doctor will not operate until she is three. I 
showed her the buttons on my glove, fastening 
and unfastening them. She looked up to me 
with her dirty little mouth smiling radiantly and 
said, "Tiens!" 

They are not the type we can do much for, but 
I begged some warm clothes for them and they 
came to the Vestiaire yesterday. The name is 
Pruvot, and there are a mother and daughter, 
three sons in the war, one of whom I am going 
to adopt as "filleul," a son and his wife and two 
little girls, and a little illegitimate child of a 
son who has disappeared and whose mother has 
abandoned it. He is the star child. Marcel Pru- 
vot, two and a half years, and I am crazy to 
adopt him. What would you say if I brought 
him home with me? Think of what one could 
make of his life; but, of course, I shall not. We 
sent a layette to one little mother. (My mother 
should see the layette department, stocked up 
with the cutest things I ever saw.) And as a spe- 
cial luxury, we included some talcum powder, 
marked "poudre de riz" (rice powder). Mrs. 
Jackson went to look her up one day and found 



34 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

her boiling the talcum powder with water in a 
saucepan, just about to feed it to the Httle crea- 
ture of three months. She had never heard of 
powder before. 

The next big branch of work is fitting out the 
bHnd. There is more pathos, gayety, and inspi- 
ration on Tuesday and Friday afternoons than 
in all the rest of the week. After the men are 
wounded at the front they are brought back 
through a chain of relief stations, "postes de 
secours," to hospitals, and finally to a Paris 
hospital. The blind are allowed to recuperate 
here either at the Val de Grace or the Quinze- 
Vingt (big hospitals), and are then sent away, 
usually to the country to learn a trade or to re- 
join their families, or both. They must give up 
their military clothes, underclothes, and shoes 
when they are discharged, and are given only the 
poorest kind of civilian clothes in exchange. 
This is where we step in to give them decent 
clothes. In many cases they are not given civil- 
ian clothes at all, although I don't understand 
the Government system enough to see how that 
is possible. So Miss Hodges, our representative 
in work for the blind, brings five or six of the 
most needy and touching cases to us and we fit 
them out. 

The blind are the most childlike as a general 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 35 

rule of all the people we deal with, and the outfit 
we give them and the kindness and help they 
receive at the Vestiaire mean to them a new 
start in life, as we have learned from guards 
afterwards. Such brave fellows! It is an excep- 
tion to see one downcast or morose, but when 
you do, your heart aches twice as rnuch, not 
only for them, but for the many gay ones who 
have conquered despair. One boy twenty-four 
years old was wounded in the leg and dragged 
himself along the ground half conscious, to find 
he was dragging himself toward the German 
trenches. At this point he was struck again 
and his eyes put out. He lay between the 
trenches under fire for days, unconscious most of 
the time and feigning death the rest. By a mir- 
acle he escaped being killed. He was picked up 
and taken to a hospital; has been there six 
months, and is now starting out to learn a trade 
— in the dark. I love to do what I can for them, 
especially as this is my one chance to know the 
French poilu. 

You would laugh to see me measuring and fit- 
ting, especially when it comes to holding up un- 
derwear to some dear blind giant. I remember 
all too well how at the age of eight I used to 
wriggle in Altman's when mother insisted on 
"getting an idea how they would go" by holding 



36 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

"them" up to me. Every saleswoman and floor- 
walker got the idea clearly. There are moments 
when blindness is not such a misfortune. 

The blind soldiers are always interested to 
know what their new clothes look like. " C'est de 
quel couleur. Mademoiselle?'* "Dark brown," I 
say, "and I will give you a brown and white tie." 
"Ah que je serai chic, moi!" One of his com- 
rades would nudge him and say, "Je voudrais 
bien avoir les yeux pour te voir, maintenant, 
mon vieux! C'est vrai que tu vais te marier?" 
(I would like to have eyes to see you now, old 
fellow; is it true you are just going to be mar- 
ried.f') Then they laugh and thank me "mille 
fois" and shake hands and wish me good luck. 
Sometimes I walk down the street with them and 
guide them along. I admire their medals and 
tell them that the passers-by are looking at them, 
etc. We never say the word "aveugle" (blind), 
but "blesse" (wounded). Sometimes when we 
have to wait for their guards I sit on the table 
and tell them all about my crossing and about 
America, and, oh, a hundred things. We do 
have good times — for the moment. 

I have tried to give you a grasp of what* we 
have to meet and how we try to meet it. First, 
the French system of pensions and rents, then 
the giving of clothes and the moving of families. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 37 

then the field work and the work for the blind. 
I have n't told about the Ouvroir because I am 
not well enough informed. We give employment 
to many women in making clothes for the Ves- 
tiaire, — flannel shirts and petticoats, under- 
clothes, dresses, everything. All materials, 
clothes, furniture, or their equivalent in money, 
come from America. 

Now for our needs. We need shoes (this "we" 
may be taken editorially, for when my present 
boots take wings I don't know what I shall do. I 
can't afford French shoes in war-times); large 
sizes, both men's and women's, and all sizes chil- 
dren's — women's 5, 6, and 7 lengths, C, D, 
and E widths, and men's correspondingly large. 
Then blankets, diaper material by the yard, 
men's overcoats (we had to turn away a blind 
boy the other day who had had his feet and legs 
frozen and was lame and was just beginning to 
get tuberculosis), and women's shirts and heavy 
union suits. These are great needs, but if there 
are any available just plain clothes, — dresses, 
suits, children's clothes, boy's trousers and 
sweaters, neckties, gloves, ribbons, stockings, 
caps, — send them. If Mother has any sewing- 
circle in New York or elsewhere at her com- 
mand, I should like to use it as a part of the 
propaganda, if I may. I believe she suggested 



88 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

it. If they want to make anything, make aprons 
for boys and girls from four to fourteen years, 
the larger sizes from ten to fourteen being the 
most important. All the school children wear 
them, and always black. The stujff is like lining 
sateen. It is astonishing to me that not only 
parents, but the children, are eager for anything 
black. It is more practical, of course, and as it 
is the custom for all the school children to wear 
black, any child feels embarrassed and odd to 
wear a color. Only hair-ribbons do they like 
bright, and this is because they dress up on Sun- 
days to go to the cemeteries. The apron is an 
all-over apron with sleeves, and buttons up the 
back. 

My idea is to give always what fits and what 
is right to each person on the spot. Give her 
something to take pride in and live up to. I 
have seen a nice-looking waist for a girl to wear 
to her work in a paper-bag factory not only 
transform her looks, but the expression of her 
face. I consider it as much my duty to tell 
people at home what we need as to go to work 
every morning. If you could know how we long 
for packing-boxes to come from America. Some- 
times when they do come they are filled with 
jimk. Old dirty clothes full of holes, pieces of 
lace, jet passementerie, etc., and how disap- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 39 

pointed we are! We are hoping, perhaps, for 
three dozen heavy union suits for men, and find 
some worn-out long white kid gloves. 

Could n't you tell some of our dear friends 
about the Vestiaire? So often at home I have 
heard people say, "It is awful how little I do for 
the war. I would like to do more, but I don't 
know just what to do." Tell them that here's 
an opportunity not only to help France, but to 
back up Americans. 

One kind of help that appeals to me strongly, 
though it is entirely outside of my work here, is 
adopting " filleuls." Many soldiers have wives 
and families who write to them and send pack- 
ages and warm things, and an occasional bar of 
soap, cake of chocolate, or package of cigarettes. 
Then there are many poor fellows whose families 
are in the invaded provinces or killed. They 
have no one, no encouragement, no one to write 
to or get letters from or give them trifling re- 
membrances. These are adopted as "filleuls" 
(godsons) by "marraines" (godmothers), who 
take an interest and try and fill the place of 
family to them. Hundreds have been so adopted 
in America, as you know, but there are so many 
more who are quite forlorn. I heard of one boy 
^the other day who was the only one in his regi- 
ment who never got anything, but tried to go 



40 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

away by himself when he knew it was time for 
the mail to come. I adopted him like a shot. I 
have since taken three more temporarily, as I 
can't possibly afford to keep them unless I can 
get some one in America to support them. Now, 
many of my friends cannot write French very 
readily and don't want to be bothered, and it 
takes months, anyway, for packages to get from 
New York to the French front, so I thought that 
if I could get two or three people to support my 
boys, I would do the writing and the sending 
of packages gladly, and then report to whoever 
was supporting them at home and forward to 
the supporters the men's letters. 

You spend anywhere from three dollars up 
for the package and send the package once a 
month. I shall keep these men from now until 
I hear from you and make an account of what 
I spend for them. Please be sure and let me 
know. 

One of our greatest needs is a small motor-car 
— we take great heavy packages and heavy fur- 
niture all over town, and then in the visiting 
work we have to go everywhere, and we get 
really more tired than I ever thought it possible 
to get and we waste so much time walking. There 
are many places where the trams and subways 
don't go and the auto-buses have stopped run- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 41 

ning. Here they are too expensive to buy and 
mostly too poor in quality. They ask thirty-two 
hundred francs for a 1910 Ford. 

Affectionately, 

ESTHEB. 



IV 

FEOM MARJORIE 

S.S. Finland, Wednesday {December 19, 1916)." 

Dear Daddy: — 

At about noon yesterday, we were all thrilled 
to see a big transport ship go by us to starboard. 
She was very lightly laden, and tossed about at 
a great rate. She had no flag and no visible 
name, and gave us no signal, which my friend, 
the purser, tells me is the custom in war-time. 
She was too far off to wig-wag, and she did not 
wish to use the wireless and thereby let some one 
else know her whereabouts. We were all duly 
thrilled by her and watched her out of sight. 
Then we lay down again, only to be bounced out 
of our chairs by the news that a French man-of- 
war was passing us to port. We tooted around 
to the other side, and there she was, big French 
flag, a medium-sized ship and a cruising de- 
stroyer, according to the faithful purser. She 
went by us slowly and gave no sign. We were 
duly grateful, for I can tell you her guns looked 
awfully big! After she had gotten well past us, 
and we thought everything was over, she sud- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 43 

denly fired a gun, began to steam up like every- 
thing, and turned around remarkably quickly 
and came racing down on top of us, smoke pour- 
ing out of her funnels and coming full-tilt right 
at us. Nobody knew what it could mean, and 
then our engines stopped and we hove to. The 
officers all beat it up to the bridge, and you never 
saw so many sick passengers come to life and 
hang over the rail with the rest of us watching. 
Every one had a different notion, and I can tell 
you it was sort of scary, for she might be a Ger- 
man in disguise, and Heaven only knows what 
she might do. After she got alongside, she 
stopped and wig-wagged for all she was worth. 
After about ten minutes, which seemed at least 
an hour, our engines started, and we went our 
way. She circled around us, and kept going off 
in different directions, and then turning. It 
seemed as if she was looking for something. The 
report the captain gave out was that she wanted 
the Greenwich time; wanted to know where we 
were going, and then wished us "Bon voyage." 
You can believe that or not. It does not sound 
plausible to me, but, anyway, the dear thing left 
us after having scared the life out of us. When 
she was alongside, and you began to think of life 
in a lifeboat in this sea, which is fairly smooth, it 
did not appeal. I suppose it all sounds trivial to 



44 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

you, — to be held up by a warship in mid-ocean, 
— but with the fact in mind that all sorts of 
things are happening now that never did before, 
and also that she went steaming past and then 
suddenly turned, we all had plenty of room for 
imagination. It was awfully interesting to see 
how different people took it. I think I would 
have been scared to death myself if it had not 
been for the humor of the idea of perishing with 
a certain one on my arm. She, poor soul, was so 
frightened and weak that she was both pitiful 
and laughable. 

This dear boat seems to go more slowly every 
day. At the present rate, I don't think we will 
land much before Easter! She certainly is nice 
and steady, though, and if this glorious weather 
keeps up, I, j)ersonally, don't care at all when 
we get in. It is so warm that it is really ridicu- 
lous. Here we are at Christmas season, and yes- 
terday I walked the deck all the morning with- 
out even a sweater, my flannel waists being 
heavy enough, though, to make up for some- 
thing, I guess. 

Marje. 



V 

FROM ESTHER 

December 16 to SI, 1916. 

Dearest Sister: — 

From subtle remarks let fall from Father's 
pen, I take it that my letters have all the charm- 
ing privacy of Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians. 
The thought that my recountings are coldly fed 
to the jaws of a typewriter without so much as 
considering my editorial "oui" has caused me to 
give my writing-table as wide a berth as is com- 
patible with the size of this my dominion; but 
since he at the same time calls me "fatuous 
child" instead of using the far more obvious and 
shorter adjective, I say. So be it. The writing- 
table leads me on in spite of my better self, and 
I settle myself before this block of cheapest 
French paper with certain foreknowledge that I 
shall give birth — this time — to many indis- 
cretions. (Why be called fatuous if you cannot 
live up to it?) 

I have an idea of compiling a list of my various 
friends and associates in a series of descriptions. 



46 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

something like La Bruyere's "Caracteres" — 
only far more interesting. I realize from your 
letters how stingy I have been in telling you 
about the pension and the people who have in- 
vited me about in Paris, and now that my first 
fear is dispelled, I shall proceed. My first fear, 
you see, was that the family would think I was 
having too good a time and would call me home 
with dispatch; now that good times manifest 
themselves in such rarity, I feel free to describe 
those first weeks of gayety. I shan't mention 
war or refugees this time, not because I don't 
every day live and breathe them (sometimes not 
so pleasant), but because I do. To-night is my 
night off — this letter is a soiree! 

My room, my dominion, my home — how I 
love it! It is fairly large, but larger still is the 
bed, which is a dominion in itself. Alongside it I 
am an incident, and alongside of me the piano 
is an episode. The massive orange armoire, 
topped by my two suitcases and a hatbox, tow- 
ers in vain when I look up at it in the early 
morning from my eider-down fastness — or (see 
Father) slowness. "My bed is like a little boat" 
no more than it is like Central Park — in fact, 
the darling Espagne would seem small beside it. 
To enter the room, to comb the hair, to wash the 
hands, to exit from the room, you must insinuate 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 47 

yourself between the bed and the wall. I might 
say there's no getting around it. 

I call the armoire Richard Cceur de Lion — it 
is strong and all-embracing. I have no bureau, 
but dress — instead of eat — "off" the mantel- 
piece. Everything is dumped into the armoire — 
ribbons, collars, dresses, shoes, books, chewing- 
gum, hats, furs, et al.^ and believe me, they stand 
not on the order of their going! I will say, 
though, before Mother's last whitened tress is 
wound up on her finger and put away in a little 
Altman box at the back of her right-hand bureau 
drawer, that I keep things pretty well arranged 
on the different shelves and in the little drawers, 
my best clothes being left in my wardrobe trunk, 
but my orderliness (so-called) is due to no virtue 
of my own, but to the fact that I never wear any- 
thing but my blue serge dress, my old blue coat, 
heavy underwear, old tan boots and rubbers — • 
never, except during giddy interregna of the old 
"battleship gray." Always put on in the morn- 
ing what you took off the night before, is my 
sine qua non — which does n't make any sense, 
but you know what I mean. 

For chairs, I have one armchair of imitation 
red leather, which is stiff and smooth and cold, 
but when I cover it over with my two sweaters 
to take the edge off, as it were, it does very well. 



48 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

Then there are two little chairs made so that you 
sit on them diagonally, — I 've always thought 
them an abomination, — but I never sit in them, 
just spread my clothes out on them at night. 
Then I have a small straight chair which goes 
with the little table that serves as desk. 

My rugs — Heaven save the name! — are 
three irregular strips of carpet — one red (a 
little purpler than the chair) with navy-blue 
fleurs-de-lys (you will remember that the wall- 
paper is pink and gold); the other two, gray in 
background, with a design which would seem 
to be conventionalized lyre-birds and sculpins 
sparring in a whirlpool. It takes the two strips 
to show the pattern — perhaps it is the great- 
pcrandchild of a gobelin nightmare. 

I have no place for my books. Indeed, I 
did n't have any books when I started out, ex- 
cept my dictionaries, but Mrs. Bigelow has left 
me ten Baedekers, and any number of books 
and magazines have been lent me. I stack them 
up on the piano, but it is very untidy. 

I have a little "cabinet" with a wash-bowl 
and running water, and I have squeezed my 
trunk in, too. I don't mind being cramped, but 
it is fierce to invite any one in to take tea. Of 
course, if I had a divan or folding sofa instead 
of the Royal Couch, things would be simple. I 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 49 

have thought it over, and have hesitated less on 
account of the expense of buying one than the 
forfeiture of my one real source of comfort. I 
had Mrs. Bigelow and Mrs. Shurtleff and Miss 
Curtis and Miss Sturgis in one day for tea, and I 
had to sit on the bed and practically entertain 
through the bars. Mrs. Shurtleff is very anxious 
for me to get a sofa, — it's just impossible, of 
course, to let any of the Ambulance men come to 
call here, — but I don't know. I may get a lit- 
tle hanging bookcase. Just try, yourself, living 
without a bureau, a desk, a bookcase, or a rug, 
and see how screaming it is. This last week, I 
spent most of the time I was in the house sitting 
on a little hassock with my back to the radiator. 
It has been bitter cold, and we had three centi- 
meters of snow, and there is hardly any coal. 

Mme. H does n't turn on the electricity in 

the morning, and turns it off at 10.45 at night, 
and the heat goes off about 8.30, and we can't 
have fires in our rooms, and it is freezing. When 
I even mention these little inconveniences, I 
remind myself of the picture that came out in 
"Punch" about two years ago: a silly ass reading 
the newspaper and saying, "They 've stopped the 
cinemas at Brighton, by Jove! That does bring 
the war home to one ! " You should hear what my 
boys write to me about the cold in the trenches. 



50 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

Now for the wonder in my menage — I have a 
piano. One day I left the house determined to 
get a mouth-organ if nothing else, — I had whis- 
tled and sung quite enough, — and I was such a 
'pest in other people's houses, when I discovered 
their pianos, that I decided to do something des- 
perate. I found a little piano-store on rue Den- 
fert-Rochereau, with a little upright, and a dar- 
ling blind piano-maker and his worried little 
wife — everything little. When I found that the 
upright (with brass candle-brackets) would be 
mine to command for twelve francs a month, I 
said, "Have it charged and sent," in my best 
Lord & Taylor style. 

Well, it came. It came the next morning 
when I was still in bed, and I had to crawl into 
my wardrobe trunk while it was being installed. 
When the heavy footsteps had echoed down the 
hall, I sprang forward like any Eurydice, in my 
dollar-ninety-eight robe de nuit. I played and 
played, and was a little late to the Vestiaire that 
morning. I had a long hard day that day, and 
almost forgot my new treasure until after din- 
ner, when I sat down on the piano-stool. I was 
casting about for some music — any music — to 
play, when Mile. Germain, a French girl here, 
came in and offered a copy of the Beethoven 
Symphonies. I struck up the Fifth, and, believe 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 51 

me, it was like solid ground beneath my feet. 
Since then I have eaten up all five — it 's only 
the first book that she has. We went to a concert 
given in a little room (I thought it was a bar 
when I first went in, — marble-topped tables 
and men smoking), but there was no symphony. 
I have n't had time to go to another lately. 

In spite of remembering the Steinway at 
home, you can imagine how happy I am with 
my little piano, even if it does come up barely to 
my hip. It is usually out of tune, and is very 
painful, but the little blind man comes with his 
wife and tunes it, and I could n't send it back. 
I play with a bicycle face my whole repertoire; 
— but I tell you I 'm gay, and I 've learned to 
watch out at the end of the F major etude not 
to crack my elbow against the foot of the bed, 
for I find that my bed gives out a metallic sound 
when rapped sharply with a bone. I stick my 
umbrella into the brass handle at the side of the 
piano, and then I have a "piano a queue"! 
After a few hours of reading Beethoven, Mile. 
Germain and I get out a piece of French gateau 
from the armoire and cut off a couple of slices 
with my shoe-horn, and sit around in our pa- 
jamas and discuss music and education and poli- 
tics — and our complexions. All too soon the 
lights go out on us, and she says, "Bon soir. 



52 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

chere Mademoiselle," and goes off down the hall 
by the light of her last cigarette. Oh, we do have 
good times! 

I must tell you about the maids, for they 
are no inconsiderable part of my days. There 
are two femmes de chambre, both small, and 
dark, and very young. I was reading in my 
room one night after I had been here about a 
week, when Melanie came to turn down my bed. 
I, thinking to turn my French on any victim, 
started to ask her questions about where her 
home was, etc. She told me that she and Maria 
were both from the North — Pas-de-Calais — 
and that they had had to come to Paris to work 
after their husbands had been killed early in 
the war. 

"Husbands!" I said. "Don't tell me you're 
married.?" 

"Mais si, Mademoiselle, — Maria has a little 
boy and I have a little girl, — they're both three 
years old. They live with their grandmothers 
back home. We can see them only once a year ! " 

I simply could n't believe it. Why, those two 
are perfect kids themselves — little and rosy- 
cheeked, scared to death of Mme. H , but 

often giggling apart in corners. 

No one giggles, I can tell you, when you men- 
tion the war, and it's only because they've been 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 53 

blessed with sunny natures that they can ever 
seem light-hearted. Their children, being in 
the war zone, seem a thousand miles away from 
them, because, even if Melanie and Maria could 
afford the trip oftener, they could n't get the 
military permit to go through more than once a 
year. They can't earn anything in the invaded 
district, and Heaven knows Paris is the worst 
place to move the whole family to, who are now 
fairly well off in the country. So here they are, 
Melanie and Maria, working their legs off, doing 
all the chamber work, waiting on table and odd 
jobs for fourteen people — for the princely sum 
of six dollars a month and tips. Louise, the cook, 
is Melanie's aunt, a jolly soul, and one fine cook. 
She lets me come into the kitchen any time, and 
gives me a hot apple fritter or some grilled car- 
rots. I found it was customary to give ten francs 
for the three maids to divide among them each 
month — three francs apiece — sixty cents for a 
month's hard labor. I gave them twelve francs, 
and they were tickled to death. Then through 
the Vestiaire I got some warm things for Me- 
lanie's and Maria's children for Christmas — a 
coat and dress for the little girl, and a doll and a 
purse filled with chocolate money covered with 
tinfoil (the kind Father used to enchant me with 
in East Orange days — he 's had to keep follow- 



54 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

ing it up, poor dear). Then for the little boy a 
coat and tiny trousers and blouse and necktie, 
and tin soldiers and candy. Louise has a little 
niece to whom I sent a dress and a darling doll's 
tea-set — I used to have a set like it for my big 
Jean. Well, I 'm sure the kids were pleased, and 
I Imow that the mothers have been beaming 
ever since. Melanie puts a hot-water bottle in 
my bed every night now. 

In the morning it is very dark, and I am cor- 
respondingly sleepy. She knocks at my door and 
says, "Sept heures et demie. Mademoiselle, — 
la journee commence," and I turn over and in 
desperation sing (like Charles Woody), "Ferme 
la fenetre, pour I'amour de Dieu!" Then I get 
up in the cold and light my candle — Madame 
won't turn on the electricity in the morning — 
and the day does commence. At night the light 
goes off at eleven, so I not only dress by yellow 
candle-light, but write by it also — as I 'm doing 
now. 

The coal situation is terrific. For the last few 
days we've had no heat and no fires. It is just 
like out-of-doors in my room, and I sit in my fur 
coat and comforter all the time. It rains end- 
lessly. I never thought that depression from 
mere weather could get me, but when you don't 
see the sun for four weeks, the grayness gets in- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 55 

side of you. It gets dark at about half-past three 
or quarter of four. The other day I was walking 
down the Avenue de I'Opera, and noticed that 
it was ten minutes past four. There was another 
clock beside the one I was looking at, which said 
quarter past eleven — New York time. It gave 
me a sort of a start, and I said right out loud, 
"Not even hungry for lunch yet." 

December 26. 

Great Heavens! I started this ten days ago, 
and stopped because I had no more paper — 
now it's after Christmas, and I have so muck 
more to say, and so many, many things to thank 
you all for. We were all electrified at Father's 
cable about the Ford. Did any girl ever have 
such a good father! I will write him at once! 
Then the "New Republic," and Mother's letter, 
and yours. Please write me about the things 
that you alone can tell me. Your letter was so 
fine the way it referred to what I had said before, 
and so gave me an idea what I had written and 
what you had thought of it. I'm certain you 
think I 'm bad about writing — I will try to do 
better. 

My Christmas was a very pleasant one. On 
Saturday the 23d I helped trim the tree and do 
up packages at one of the smaller hospitals here. 



56 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

Itwas Mrs. Lane who asked me to help, a charm- 
ing American woman whose husband is head of 
the hospital. He had been called to the front by 
the illness of their son, one of the American Am- 
bulance men near Verdun. Sunday night I went 
to the tree celebration, and it was a great experi- 
ence. In the first place, the hospital is in an old 
French private mansion — h6tel, as they call it 
— and is quite a gorgeous place. What was 
once the salon was filled with convalescents, all 
well enough to be in uniform. At one end was 
the tree, the stage, and a piano, and at the other 
end we guests sat. All in between was a mass 
of soldiers in Joffre blue, laughing and jostling 
one another, expectant as children. There were 
a few musical numbers, and then a playlet with 
songs. I happened to be sitting by the mother of 
the girl in the playlet, and we had a beautiful 
time together. The girl was lovely, and how the 
men clapped and cheered! 

Then there were speeches, and the tree was 
lighted. Before the presents were given out, the 
"Marseillaise" was sung. I hadn't heard any 
singing here, — men together especially, — and 
to see them all facing the tree with the light on 
their faces, many of them pale, some bandaged, 
singing with their whole hearts, it was too much 
for me. Some had only one leg to stand on, and 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 57 

had their arms around the next fellows' necks, 
some could n't see, and looked so alone. I 
would n't let any one see the tears in my eyes, 
for tears seemed to be their last thought. 

It was very gay when the bags were distrib- 
uted. Each man got some bonbons and some 
trifle, and pieces of holly and mistletoe, and 
there were snappers and caps, and things raflfled 
off, and more speeches. The evening ended with 
"Vive la France!" and "Joyeux Noel," and 
again, "Vive la France!" I shall never forget it. 

Love, and Happy New Year. 

ESTHEB. 



VI 



FROM MAEJORIE 

73 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea (January 4, 1917). 

Dearest Daddy: — 

I have been having a delightful time — have 
seen a good many of the sights, and have been 
to the theater. The houses are pretty good, not 
crammed, but better than the average house has 
been in Boston for the last two years. The pit 
is always full. The plays are frightfully long- 
drawn-out, and I can't help thinking all the time 
that an American audience would never en- 
dure them, but they are bright and beautifully 
staged, which surprised me. We went to the 
Battle of the Somme pictures, and enjoyed them 
very much, if one can use the word "enjoy" for 
such interesting but harrowing pictures. There 
was a very small house, but they were charging 
regular theater prices, and the pictures have 
been here for a long time. The opera was good, 
and was particularly interesting to us, for Mr. 
Julius Harrison, who conducted, is a friend of 
the Smiths. It did seem strange to me to have 
them sing in English, and once in a while an 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 59 

awful bit of Cockney would get in, such as in 
"Cavalleria," the fiery Alfio, in his rage at dis- 
covering his wife's infidelity, gave a wild leap 
on the stage and shrieked, "It's strienge, it's 
straeynge." That is as near to the spelling as I 
can get. There was a small but appreciative 
audience, and again the pit was crammed full — 
Tommies and their girls. 

Chelsea is certainly much the most pleasant 
part of London to live in if one is an ordinary 
mortal — not a title, I mean. The houses have 
lots of personality, and make me think of Beacon 
Hill all the time. It is fun to compare them with 
the Boston houses and see just what the Ameri- 
cans have copied and what they ignored. I love 
the plumbing here; it is so very informal — the 
way it is all on the outside and usually down the 
front of the houses. One bath to seven rooms is 
the average, I gather. And that one bath is 
usually in the end of a hallway, or in a closet. 

The weather is behaving in a true London 
fashion — was at first foggy, as I told you, and 
now is absurdly warm. I have not suffered from 
the cold, therefore, so far, and am waiting for 
my trials to begin in Paris along that line. I 
have been so lucky this far on my trip that 
I suppose something awful will soon happen to 
me, but I can look back to these weeks of com- 



60 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

fort and good food when I starve on the Chan- 
nel ship! 

You will be disappointed to know that they 
have not done away with the dogs here, and 
that there are quantities of them everywhere! 
There is a dear little puppy in this household, 
which makes me think of how you would enjoy 
her, if only you were here. 

I have so far had no difficulty in arranging 
affairs, and now with Dr. Page behind me, I 
think I shall be in Paris soon. I have found my 
various letters and papers valuable, and have 
been impressed with the courteous efficient offi- 
cers I have met. I can very well see, though, 
that it would be impossible to get anywhere un- 
less one knew exactly what one wanted to do, 
and where one was going, and had good evidence 
to back up one's statement. 

Your loving daughter, 

Marje. 



VII 

FROM ESTHER 

Paris, January 24, 1917. 

Dearest Father: — 

I dashed off a few words to you almost in my 
sleep the other night to be sure of having some- 
thing on the Espagne. Sometimes I don't feel 
like getting out a bolt of wrapping-paper and 
beginning at the extreme end, and that was one 
of the times. I did manage to jot down a few 
theme sentences, however, and now I will pro- 
ceed to talk. 

To say that we are overjoyed with the Ford 
is to put it mildly! It is the ideal car and body 
for our purposes and we all feel much indebted 
to you. Father dear, and to Mr. Migel. Two 
perfectly lovely letters are on their way to him 
from Mrs. Shurtleff and me respectively. Mrs. 
Shurtleff would like to know the name of the 
dealer who gave the thirty-three dollars dis- 
count, to write him a note also. As for lettering, 
we shall have time to think of the flourishes 
when the car arrives. I am glad you did n't 
bother about it as Mrs. Shurtleff wants to have 



62 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

an American flag underneath the name to let 
the French people see that it is an American 
work. 

The American mail has just come, and such a 
dandy lot has come my way! I am sorry you 
have worried about the box sent November 
15th; I acknowledged it last time, but I will say 
again how much appreciated everything was. 
The December 9th one came Thursday Jan- 
uary 18th, which was very quick, as we count on 
six weeks for cases. I was as excited as a colt 
and went at it with hammer and tongs — in this 
case an old rusty axe and a pair of pinchers — 
and pulled forth joyfully the shirts, coats, and 
all the things. Certainly Mother does send jim- 
dandy things. I shed a few sentimental tears on 
the name-tag on Mr. Hathaway's coat and more 
tears when I did n't find my Oxford book or 
any peanut brittle! But the box did contribute 
something to me personally which was of the 
greatest value, which will appear later in my 
narrative. 

It is touching to hear the refugees tell what 
they have tried to save from their old homes. If 
they have been driven to Paris by bombard- 
ment they have perhaps been able to save a 
couple of mattresses (so handy to travel with) or 
some blankets; but for the ones who have been 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 63 

in the invaded country and have only recently 
been repatriated by the Germans, they rarely 
arrive here with anything but the clothes on 
their backs. The trip is eventful enough, usually, 
in trying merely to keep life going without jug- 
gling with furniture and extra clothes. They 
are sent from Northern France into Germany 
through Switzerland to Southern France and 
thence up to Paris. The traveling is not de luxe 
as you may imagine and takes many hours — • 
days even. To get a vivid idea of the journey 
you should have it described by an old dame 
of seventy summers who has never set foot out 
of her native village before. She will sit with 
ten or twenty knitting needles flashing in her 
lap, her white cap tied neatly under her chin 
and rattle on in toothless but fluent patois re- 
citing a series of experiences that you wonder 
she could ever have survived. Perhaps you 
can picture for yourself the effect of taking any 
old country woman that we know through the 
Dolomites under a hostile guard. 

Highest praises are always given to the Swiss. 
They have given warm clothes, warm food, and 
a warm welcome to countless refugees that I 
have talked to. 

What you say about the feeling in America, 
that France at the end of the war will be safe 



64 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

from the encroachment of other nations for 
generations, sounds encouraging, but does that 
imply that the end of the war is a long way off? 
I have been astonished ever since coming to 
France to find the general expectation is for 
an early termination of hostilities — very early, 
this spring or next fall at the latest. My opin- 
ion was formed almost entirely by the "New 
Republic" and the Frank H. Simonds articles 
in the "Atlantic" and in the "Tribune," so that 
I considered the fall of 1918 to be the most 
logical time to hope for the end. What the 
Allies have to do seems still well-nigh insur- 
mountable, but to my surprise, young and old, 
rich or poor, wise or foolish, seem sure that 
1917 is, indeed, I'annee de la victoire et de la 
paix. I can't tell whether it is because they 
wish it so hard or because to people who have 
seen and are living among the results of such 
tremendous desolation, it seems impossible for 
it to go on longer. 

Please send more "New York Tribunes." 
You have no idea how they are appreciated by 
all of us. I took the ones Mother sent over to 
the Shurtleffs, then over to Mrs. Houpt's, then 
up to Miss Dorr's when I went to tea one after- 
noon, and when I asked some people in they 
were the features of my party. The W. E. Hill 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 65 

drawing of "scenes in the hat department" 
brought down the house. 

We have n't seen such good war pictures over 
here at all, and the pictures of the stage and 
society and art exhibitions, etc., are fascinating. 
It is wonderful to know that such things are go- 
ing on. Then for news, the regular "Tribune" 
was gobbled up. We have only these punk 
French papers and the punker "New York 
Paris Herald," which costs three cents and con- 
sists of one sheet of four pages — of nothing. 
We read, "Quiet night on the front"; "Wilson 

presses investigation of , may write note to 

Germany"; and accounts of the London dog 
shows morning after morning. Take pity. And 
especially the magazine sections of the "Sunday 
Tribune," and more stuff by Hill! 

Now for my Hymn of Hate which is in this 
case a Hymn of Heat. I am cold. This is a 
theme which has been elaborated in every de- 
gree of variation, and amplification since De- 
cember 23, 1916, I think. I wrote you about 
that time that our steam heating had died sud- 
denly and ingloriously, so it was with relief that 
I read in your letters of this morning no trace 
of worry about how I was managing to exist. All 
the old wiseacres that I meet, and this includes 
Mrs. Shurtleff, shake their heads and say, "If your 



66 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

father and mother knew how you were living, 
what would they say?" and I think to myself, 
"They would probably think it was jolly well 
good for me — and that it was a terrific joke.'* 

As I said, the Chauffage Central did n't 
marchS on December 23, and had n't marchS-d 
since. The proprietor says he can't get any coal, 
and this may be true enough, for the Seine has 
been rising and rising, and a few days ago was 
higher than at any time since the floods of '08. 
Great quantities of coal are at Rouen, but the 
transports can't get under the bridges to bring 
it to Paris, with the river so high. It seems that 
almost every one's proprietor was far-seeing 
enough to get in a huge supply last summer, but 
ours was probably strolling along some sunny 
beach and never gave the question a thought. 

To-day Mme. H heard that he has been 

laying in coal at his residence this last week, and 
still won't provide for us. The only indemnity 
he can be made to give is five francs a day per 
apartment, and it costs about two francs per 
room a day to keep heated by coal or wood. 
The five francs pays to keep alive the stove that 
Madame has had put in the dining-room and 
for the extra gas she uses in cooking. 

And where do we come in, we pensionnaires? 
We buy our own coal or wood or petrol stove. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 67 

as the case may be, and it *s very hard on some 
of us, particularly Mile. Germain. And on top 
of all this, we freeze. 

I thought at first that it would be lovely to 
have a darling little fire every night, and I never 
thought what it would be to get hold of darling 
little logs and then make them burn. For a week 
or two it was more or less fun and very war-y, 
but the drawbacks begin to pall after weeks. 
You see the fireplace is only nineteen inches 
wide (I measured it with the little blue tape 
measure Mother gave me), and the logs I burn 
are about twelve inches long. So at best the heat 
penetrates to a maximum distance of five feet. 
And finally the logs they send me are wet — and 
you can't get kindling. If you could imagine 
the amount of time I have spent kneeling in my 
fur coat before the miniature fireplace trying to 
light a couple of wet logs with an old copy of the 
"Herald," you would certainly smile. Here's 
where the cases from home came in strong. Our 
good helper Agatha and I split them into kin- 
dling and made two bundles and I carried them 
home. It is typical of the Latin Quarter that no 
one gave me a second glance as I strode along 
the street with a big bundle of wood on each 
shoulder. They burned as nothing ever has 
burned in my sight before. I told Mrs. Shurtleff 



68 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

that I was going to write next for a case of 
kindling from America! 

Fortmiately it is not as cold here as it is, 
in New York, although this confomided ther- 
mometer means so little to me that I can't tell 
you just what it is. Some days it *s zero, others 
it's 2, and in the house it's 5 or 7, and it feels 
just as cold as that would be on good old Fah- 
renheit. It's just as cozy to live in my room 
these days as it would be to live in a tent out on 
Place Denfert-Rochereau. I can see my breath 
if I care to look, but I'm tired of it as we 
approach the fifth week. I wear my fur coat 
most of the time and sometimes my hat, and 
settle down on a hassock in front of whatever 
fire there is, to read. I have tried wearing gloves, 
but the pages stick so that I lose in temper what 
I make up for in warmth. To play my piano is 
like playing on icicles. But I play just the same 
and then go into the kitchen to warm my hands. 
I have Louise put some of my wet logs on the 
back of the stove when she has been cooking and 
it has dried them out fairly successfully. 

You can imagine what getting up in the 
morning is like. If it were n't immodest I 'd 
like to dress out on my balcony, for I think 
the temperature would be an improvement. The 
very walls of the room are cold, they have n't 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 69 

been heated for so long. And as for touching 
the bare floor or a door-handle! Really, had I 
the tongue of Greeks or Jews or possibly Siberi- 
ans or Esquimaux I would describe our home 
atmosphere, which makes itself felt as it whistles 
under the doors and around the windows — but 
not unless. But I would n't think of moving 
even if I knew of any warm place to go. The 
people are just like a big family and I'll never 
desert Mme. H. — Micawber. It will be lovely 
in the spring. 

And after all I love my little fire "that goes 
in and out with me." And I feel so settled here. 
I never wake up in the morning any more and 
say like the bewildered little darky, "Whar 
me!" and when I open the front door at night 
I feel that I never really belonged anywhere 
else. 

What I look forward to all day is getting into 
bed at night. I slide in between the icy sheets and 
find the tin bed- warmer that Olive gave me, and 
then way down at the bottom a hot, squashy, 
hot-water bag. I tuck the comforter in tight, 
and pull my fur coat up over my head and stay 
there suffocated until I 'm sure my nose is warm 
enough not to keep me awake, then I uncover 
cautiously and slowly go off to sleep. When once 
asleep nothing could wake me up — not the 



70 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

Allies victorious or the Heavenly trump. But 
before I go to sleep I have a fine chance to think 
over happy things of the past and I do love it. I 
think of what fun we used to have at North- 
ampton, especially those two years at the Lodge. 
It seems too wonderful to be true now, to think 
of living not merely with people who were girls 
your own age and spoke English, but your very 
own best friends that you would pick out from 
all the world. All living together under one 
roof! 

When it was cold like this there was skating 
on Paradise, and after giving three looks at our 
history in the evening, a bunch of us would go 
down to the boat-house and put on our skates 
and go out and skate by the electric light and 
moonlight combined. Then when we were fro- 
zen, we'd come in and warm ourselves by the 
huge fireplace, leave our skates, and go down 
town to Kingsley's for some hot chocolate and 
whipped cream. When the moon shone full 
on the white snow it gave the luster of midday 
all right. I can just hear how our footsteps 
crunched and the snow squeaked, it was so cold. 
As we'd be drinking our chocolate some one 
would look down the street at the town clock 
and cry, "It's quarter of ten! !" and we'd dash 
out of the place and run like mad up Main 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 71 

Street, turn to the left at the watering-trough, 
up West Street, down Arnold Avenue, and 
pound up the kitchen steps of the Lodge. 
Usually we got there just as the college clock 
was striking ten. We'd fly up the back stairs 
and undress in the dark and jump into bed. 
"Nothing on our minds but our hair! " It seems 
so long ago. 

This letter is going very slowly, I'm afraid. 
If I could only write with my left hand, it 
would n't be so bad, but I have to keep stopping 
to put my right on the hot-water bag to keep 
my fingers going. They look like carrots, any- 
way. Please tell Aunt Esther that I have become 
a mad devotee of hot water as a beverage. This 
ought to put new life into her, for I have always 
felt that she never quite recovered from the ob- 
stinate way I used to take the pitcher of hot 
water, regularly delivered to me on a tray 
flanked conspicuously with a cup and saucer, 
dump the contents into the bowl and bathe 
comfortably and leisurely. This at the age of 
eight. Now all is changed. I drink what is 
brought piping hot for me to use to bathe in, 
and bathe in the dispirited contents of my night- 
blooming hot- water bag. Such is age — and 
Paris. 

Now the results of this constant warfare be- 



(72 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

tween man and the elements are twofold. I first 
might say that my flesh is brilliantly branded 
by the various applications, too arduously em- 
braced, so that it looks as though giant postage 
stamps had been applied promiscuously over my 
huge gaunt frame. Secondly, I am a bit done 
up. With my room fairly uninhabitable it has 
been against nature to refuse as many of the 
cordial (and warm) invitations that have been 
given me as would have been consistent with 
wisdom — certainly ag'in' my nature, and I have 
tired myself with trotting back and forth from 
one fireside to another on top of the new forms 
of work that I have been adapting myself to. I 
have gone out a great deal to tea, and some- 
times in the evening, too, and haven't rested 
very much. Yet it 's little comfort to come home 
and rest when you're shivering! 

However, I'm not a bit discouraged about 
anything — one must find out one's strength 
somehow — and please don't worry. By the 
time you get this I shall probably be blooming. 

I heard "Faust," with Mary Aiken and her 
mother a week ago Saturday — the only time 
since Mother took Olive and Franklin and me 
eleven years ago, when it was my first opera. It 
was glorious! I seemed to know it all and what 
I did n't know was lovely too. We had dandy 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 73 

seats in the parterre — only seven francs sev- 
enty centimes, the seventy centimes being a tax 
for the poor, imposed on all theater and opera 
seats. Do you remember when we used to strug- 
gle and squeak through "Anges purs, anges ra- 
dieux"? — where it goes up a key each time? I 
find myself singing, "Salut, demeure chaste et 
pure," as I turn my chilted footsteps toward 
Place Denf ert-Rochereau sometimes — so chaste 
and pure that there is no sybaritic allurement 
even in the fireplace. 

I must tell you how wonderful that child Gile 
Davies has been to me. Every week since I've 
been gone I've had a note, sometimes a long 
letter from her; and not a word did I write until 
Christmas-time. To cap the climax, I received a 
package a day or two ago — a Christmas pres- 
ent. It was a baby blue satin handkerchief bag 
that she had made herself, with a handkerchief 
and a sachet inside. It seemed great to see any- 
thing so pretty and useless after so many flannel 
waists and boots and trousers and all the homely 
things that are so indispensable. In the bottom 
of the box was the most precious of all — an 
enlargement of the picture Martha took of Gile 
one morning when she was putting up the flag 
at Bailey's — Gile in a middy blouse with the 
Sim full on her, just turning to smile as she's 



74 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

pulling the ropes; and Harpswell and the Sound 
in the distance. 

When I found that, on top of the handkerchief 
and the sachet, I just opened the bag and risked 
all the blue satin lining by crying into it. Oh, I 
never saw anything look so sweet. 

I think I was even gladder about what you 
wrote of wearing my circle scarf-pin for my sake, 
than about the Ford; though maybe it's wicked. 
I can forgive with abandon, and picture with 
tenderness the cruel and unusual neckties in 
which it probably nestles. My one fear is that 
you may waste too much affection on me when 
I'm away, thinking that I have changed. I 
have n't at all, malheureusement. It 's just that 
blessings apparently seem to brighten immedi- 
ately after taking flight. I never do anything 
wonderful at all. I sometimes get tired clear 
through and wish there were some one to man- 
age things for me — some one to take me out — 
some one else to buy the tickets — some one else 
to order the taxi — some one else to decide what 
to do. I just long to get all dressed up and go 
out somewhere and see people in evening clothes. 
Sometimes I feel that I'd rather put on a pair 
of long white gloves than put off the old man! 
You can see from that. 

Remember that if I'm your little tin-god- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 75 

on- wheels, you're mine, and I think of you 
every day, no matter what I 'm doing, and send 
you oceans of love, not only for all your kind- 
ness to me and others, but because I love you, 
anyway. 

Good-night to you all, 

Esther. 

Dear Father, don't worry, I 'm going to get a 
stove. 



VIII 

EEOM MAEJORIE 

VUla des Dames, 

79 rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, Paris. 

(January 25, 1917.) 

Dear Daddy: — 

Well, the impossible has happened! I am 
plunged into reckless expense after having re- 
strained myself for over a week. Yesterday 
afternoon I came back from the Vestiaire with 
a great deal of typewriting to do. I found my 
room a little colder than usual, — which was too 
much, — so I just sailed downstairs and de- 
manded a fire! Such excitement you never saw. 
The head of the hotel and his wife both came 
tearing up and wanted to know if "Mademoi- 
selle was cold" — with the marvelous steam 
heat going full tilt (!). I said yes, I was cold, and 
that I must have a fire at once — so I got it. 
They were most apologetic because it had to be 
a wood fire — but I was delighted. I then lit 
my candles — ordered tea, and after getting all 
warm inside, just sat down and toasted myself! 
You don't know, you can't possibly imagine, the 
divine joy I got from that little fire of only two 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 77 

pieces of wood at a time! I did not tell Miss W. 
that I had it for a while, because I wanted to en- 
joy it all by myself. When I did tell her, she was 
as thrilled as I was, and we two just sat over it 
and nursed it all afternoon and evening! I do 
not know how much it cost me, — I did n't dare 
ask, — but I do know that for the first time 
since I left my room in the Belmont I have been 
truly so warm that I am comfortable! I have 
had it again this afternoon, and am now sitting 
by its dying embers before I go to bed. Miss W. 
is sitting opposite me reading. We are both — 
wonder of wonders — sweater/e55. You do not 
know what all this means, but I can assure you 
after I worked in two sweaters and a coat, with 
my fur coat around my knees, and stopping to 
blow on my fingers every few minutes, I decided 
that it was plain silly, and that I would move my 
table, which was put in the fireplace, — to sug- 
gest, as it were, that there is now no need of a 
fire, — and investigate the chimney. I was so 
pleased to find that it is a peach of a one, and 
draws beautifully. By strict economy I have 
only used one basket of wood in the two days, 
and that cannot be very, very extravagant. 
Also I am going out to buy my own wood to- 
morrow, and bring it home under my arm, for I 
know it will be less than what they will charge 



78 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

me here, — so picture me as wandering through 
the streets with a load of wood under my arm in 
true Parisian fashion! But also picture my once 
barely livable room turned into a positive hot- 
bed — it must be 68° in here, I am sure! I may 
have to give up going in the underground and 
have to walk everywhere, — it will be so expen- 
sive, — but I will always from now on have a 
warm room to work and rest in ! You are prob- 
ably saying, "What a lot of fuss over a fire," but 
you do not know how I have been trying to fig- 
ure out just how much I could stand and how 
much I could not. I do not mind working at the 
Vestiaire in the cold, for I am always active; but 
I have got to have it decently warm when I sit 
and type for three hours at a time, and I am 
so thrilled to find that this comparatively small 
fireplace has such very excellent effects. 

I can tell you little Marje is so grateful to 
Sears-Roebuck Company that she is seriously 
considering putting them in her prayers! I sleep 
under Sears-Roebuck blankets, wear their flan- 
nel nighties and underclothes, and use their pen, 
paper, and pins! The French idea of blankets 
seems to be something as heavy as possible, with 
the least possible warmth in it! 

Miss W. says that I am to tell you that I al- 
ready look better than when I first came. I have 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 79 

a wonderful appetite, and only hope that I will 
not by any unfortunate chance grow out of any 
of my warm things! 

When I get home I expect to put your Miss K. 
out of the office, I am becoming such an expert 
typist! It is rather amusing to come way over 
here and type so much, but just now that and 
"visiting" is what they need most. I expect to 
work after a time on the tuberculosis cases under 
a very nice elderly gentleman whose name I can- 
not remember, and also to drive the auto a good 
deal. Esther Root, one of the workers, has just 
had a car (Ford, of course) sent to her by her 
father, and when it arrives we are going to Bor- 
deaux to drive it up here. Won't that be great? 
We hope it will get here soon, for we need it 
frightfully. There is so much to be carried 
around — furniture and such — when we move 
a family, which we do quite often. 

Oh, I do hope that Mother is not going to 
worry too much about me, now that I am at last 
in such good hands. I never saw a much nicer, 
kinder, more thoughtful set of workers. Now 
that I shall be warm and I am very well fed, in- 
deed, I am as happy as can be. I think that I 
shall work in to be fairly useful after a time. 

We keep hearing rumors of sugar-cards, no 
more bakeries open, and all sorts of things. I 



80 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

shall be interested to see if the new laws really 
come into effect the first of February. Even if 
they do, I do not believe that it will affect us 
very much. As usual, the poorer people will 
have the hardest part of it to bear. 

The more I see of Dr. and Mrs. Shurtleff, the 
more I like them; they are so simple. It is quite 
wonderful to me to see how this work of Mrs. 
Shurtleff's has grown up. The whole institution 
is run very smoothly and very thoroughly. She 
takes it all very calmly and keeps it all in hand 
without giving the appearance of being what 
you would call a "business woman." She always 
has time to be more than polite and kind. She 
takes the trouble to drop in to see me, for in- 
stance, when I know perfectly well how busy she 
is. She writes the greater part of the "thank- 
you" letters herself, and that alone is a terrific 

job. She is almost an exact opposite to Mrs. , 

and yet it is wonderful to see how she has kept 
this work up to standard and how she has en- 
larged it, and is every day, almost, enlarging. 
Since I have come, for instance, she has started 
a grocery store department, and the special 
tubercular department. Altogether I am thor- 
oughly enjoying "watching the wheels go 
round," and I think I shall be able to do my bit 
towards pushing. I do not see how I could have 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 81 

found a pleasanter, more jfitting job for a girl of 
my age. 

Until I got warmed up yesterday, I had 
the keenest sympathy with one "Sam McGee" 
in one of Robert Service's poems, — who, you 
probably remember, never was warm until he 
finally sat in his "crematorium"! 

I must stop now. I hope that you have been 
able to read this. I used a pen to-night be- 
cause I have typed so much all day I was tired 
of it! Lots and lots of love from your daughter 

Mabje. 



FROM MAEJORIE 

Villa des Dames, 

79 rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, Paris. 

(February 4, 1917.) 

Dearest Family: — 

Oh, Mother and Daddy, this work here is so 
interesting. Now that I have settled down to it 
more, and can see what I am doing and where it 
all leads to, I am very, very interested. I think 
that I shall be useful, too. My typewriter has n't 
stopped clicking for many hours since I came. 
It is now being adjusted over Sunday, and they 
are going to give me a price on having the 
French accents put on it. I tried to exchange 
it for a French keyboard one, same machine. 
Corona, of course, but find it would cost twenty 
dollars, which is an absurd price, I think. Of 
course, they are selling so many here, they can 
ask what they want. However, I jollied the lady 
a good deal, and she is going to see how much it 
would cost to add the accents only to mine, — 
for you see it takes a lot of extra, and just now 
pretty valuable, time, to go back over every 
page and put on the accents. If they give me a 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 83 

good price, I think I shall do it out of the money 
Mr. M. gave me. 

I have been put in entire charge of the mail 
now, and, therefore, I try to get to the Vestiaire 
by twenty minutes to nine, which gives me 
twenty minutes free all to myself to get the 
letters opened at least, and somewhat sorted. I 
am becoming a regular Sherlock Holmes when 
it comes to guessing at names, addresses, and 
whether the letters are from soldiers' wives, cul- 
tivated persons, or the regular appeals! After I 
sort them, I head them with the last name, the 
address, and the arrondissement, and then file 
what I can, and deliver the rest to the various 
workers who are by this time assembling, and, 
as I have chosen the mantelpiece for my desk, 
pro tem., I find every one gathers towards the 
fire, which saves me lots of time! Because I am 
new, and the streets are so very peculiar to me 
still, and it takes longer to look over a French 
letter than it would an English one, I do not get 
ready for calling until about 9.45. Then I get 
off, the others having paired off and started soon 
after 9.10. Call all morning, but usually only 
three visits, for it takes time to get all the details 
we want, and, as it is really pretty much up to 
the visitor and her report as to what the con- 
ference votes Saturday, we don't hurry, but try 



84 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

to give them each their due, as it were. When I 
was home, of course, I thought that I knew what 
the war over here meant, but now I am beginning 
to realize that if I stayed here the rest of my Hf e 
(which I hope I will not have to do, even with 
the new international complications), I would 
find new horrors, new complications and results 
every day. Of course, the object of our visit- 
ing is to determine whether the family deserves 
what it has asked for, and also to decide if they 
deserve what we can do, but they never dream 
of asking us to move them. Of course, the great- 
est difference between our work here and the 
ordinary visiting done by social service workers 
at home, is that usually the people at home 
have brought their present condition of misery 
on themselves in one way or another, while these 
poor souls over here have not. They have had 
homes, gardens, rabbits, and savings, which they 
tell you about as a rule with pleasure, and not 
emotionally. (That is one thing, these people 
have suffered so they do not weep any more.) 
These people used to help others a little, and 
were driven out in various horrible and less 
horrible ways, — marching for days on foot, a 
whole family, old and young, and not able to 
save anything, and some families separated for- 
ever, perhaps by the blowing up of a bridge 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 85 

behind them to keep back the "Boehes." We 
have one family who got across a bridge just in 
time. The mother and two youngest children 
they saw on the other side before the bridge was 
blown up, and they have never heard of or from 
them since. Then the days of walking, sleeping 
in caves, sometimes for weeks, eating only when 
chance put food in their ways; women having 
their babies born in straw in cellars under bom- 
bardment, and the children surviving, sometimes. 
Then after weeks of this, they arrive here, for it 
is certainly true of Paris as of Rome, that "all 
roads lead to Rome," to find that they being 
refugees must pay rent. No one wants to take 
them in when they have many children. The 
Government is wonderful the way it does give 
its "allocation" to them. The Mairies give 
coal once a month and potatoes twice; and 
the schools give sabots or jalottes every three 
months. But even with this, it is hard, after 
having had a "home," to live in hdtels all in one 
room, or two at the most (and these p>eople that 
were a pretty good class of persons formerly). 
I don't know whether their mental as well as 
physical suffering is more pitiful than those 
common miners' families, refugees who always 
lived a squalid hfe, but whose actual physical 
misery is usually worse than the first class. 



86 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

Of course, the Parisians have a certain definite 
advantage right from the first, because, accord- 
ing to law, they do not have to pay rent; that is, 
none who have a member at the front, and good- 
ness knows that includes all Parisiennes, at any 
rate. This law does not refer to refugees, so you 
see it makes a good big difference in the com- 
parative cost of living. 

I suppose that it must be the Rockefeller 
Foundation that gives so many of these people 
from the "pays envahis" such excellent aid if 
they pass through Switzerland. We hear over 
and over again that in "Suisse on est bien 
traite." 

Just at present, things are very busy here, for 
Mrs. Shurtleff is opening two new departements, 
— grocery and tuberculosis. The former will be 
invaluable, for so many of the people are sick 
through lack of proper food; and, after all, with 
one franc twenty-five centimes a day allocation 
for the wife or mother, and seventy-five cen- 
times per day for the children under sixteen 
years, and only fifty centimes per kid if there 
is no member at the front, with the average 
family now, with the very varying rent, some- 
times very high and other times comparatively 
low, it is, even with a small supply of coal and 
potatoes (erratically given, for the most part), 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 87 

hard for a family that is run down, after the 
exposures and general strain of their flight, to 
have enough money left, when they have paid 
their rent, to buy very nourishing and very much 
food. It is most interesting to find every day 
new twists and turns as to what the different Co- 
mites and Mairies will and will not do. They 
are cutting down on everything as much as they 
can, and you can hardly blame them. But the 
inconsistencies are amusing at times; — one 
family does not get its *' allocation de refugie," 
generally known as "chaumage" (differing from 
*' allocation militaire " in that it is given, although 
there is no member of the family at the front), be- 
cause they have only four children! Yet if there 
were five children or more, they would receive 
only four pairs of shoes from the schools every 
three months, so whatever you have in the way 
of a family is a drawback; but if you have no 
children at all, you are worse off than ever!! 

In one way the poor children are better off, 
from my way of thinking, in one detail, — the 
poorer they are the heavier stockings they wear, 
and as they grow richer, the stockings become 
less and less, until the really rich, swell, Com- 
monwealth-Avenue children go about with 
socks and purple knees! 

We each of us have our "pet families" whom 



88 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

we want to do little extra things for, and I 
have already acquired one family — a very extra 
special, nice, self-respecting one, who won me 
among other things by telling me she opened the 
window in her room twice a day to change the 
air! — an absolutely unheard-of thing in this 
land! The woman has three dear little children, 
two who go to school and a lovely little baby. 
They are all so clean, and the tiny room is spot- 
less. The eldest boy is now sixteen, and has just 
been operated on for appendicitis, and has gone 
to some friends in the country to rest after the 
operation. The mother and three children spent 
a month in caves before she came here. The 
father is at the front, of course, — is a wire- 
layer for telephone and telegraph service. He 
does lookout work, sitting in tree-tops with spy- 
glasses and hoisted on top of poles to try to dis- 
cover the enemy's guns and positions, — all of 
which is very dangerous work. Enough of all 
this; — I did not realize how I had rambled on. 
I want you and Daddy to know that I have 
been writing so hard that I never heard the 
luncheon bell at all ! ! I am now eating my va- 
rious kinds of crackers with one hand, while I 
finish this with the other! I shall have a splendid 
excuse to have a very plentiful tea this afternoon, 
which will be very nice. I can tell you I think 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 89 

that I could stand a several days' siege with my 
well-stocked wardrobe. 

Lots and lots of love to all the family from 
yom* very happy and busy daughter, 

Marje. 

This letter, although probably late, brings 
many, many happy returns of the day to you, 
Mother dear. 

P.S. Having re-read this letter, I have to 
apologize for the writing. I am terribly sorry it 
is so messy. I guess I got excited and tried to go 
as fast as the typewriter does! 



X 

FROM ESTHER 

On train from Pan, Saturday, February 24, 1917. 

Dearest Father: — 

A telegram came to me a week ago, just as I 
was about to return to Paris, telling me that the 
Ford had arrived at Bordeaux and to stay in 
Pau until further notice. So I have been put in 
Pau since then, having one more extra week. It 
has been glorious. 

But nothing so glorious as the news that our 
darling Ford is on French soil — or in French 
docks or wherever it is. A letter from Mrs. 
Shurtleff unfolds this plan for me to meet her 
and Marjorie Crocker in Bordeaux and drive the 
car up to Paris. Our road lies straight through 
the chateau country. With weather and reason- 
able luck with the car we ought to manage to 
get some fun out of it. Mrs. Shurtleff and Mar- 
jorie would be my choice of companions, and the 
heart of France with a long straight road my 
choice of place. 

My "permis de conduire" hangs in mid-air. 
No word has been said of it, but I know I must 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 91 

have one. The more I concentrate on the genus 
Ford, the less I can remember about it; and 
to start off with an air in a new car and in a 
strange city will be a sensation, at least. How- 
ever, I'll do anything once. The last time I 
drove a car was when I took Mrs. Perkins for 
a national excursion down the sylvan ways of 
Connecticut. I hardly expected then to have 
as my next passenger a frowning French prefect 
of police through the heart of Bordeaux. We 
shall see. 

Yesterday afternoon is one of the pleasantest 
that I have to look back on in adorable Pau. 
Sudden inspiration seized me in the early after- 
noon and I bought a sketch-book. Possibly 
Harold's charming drawings, made in the country 
and at the front, planted ambitions in my un- 
aspiring pencil that I had hitherto ignored. Any- 
way, I bought a businesslike appareil and wan- 
dered around the chateau seeking the most 
appealing detail. I chose my point of attack and 
settled myself down on the curbstone with my 
muff as a cushion. A few yards away a real 
artist was working, with stool, easel, board, and 
other paraphernalia. I could almost hear his 
brush scratch the canvas and feel his withering 
eye on my back. Undismayed, I maintained my 
lowly position and scratched on for my own 



9^ OVER PERISCOPE POND 

part with unabashed enjoyment. The afternoon 
sun gave long shadows and "touched the Sul- 
tan's turret with a shaft of light." It was 
magical. 

I had almost finished when some boys came 
running out to play. They were little chaps in 
the inevitable black aprons, and on their heads 
the round sailor tarns topped by a rosette. Some 
clustered around the artist, the rest looked over 
my shoulder. They began to take sides. "Pas 
mal ga," said one sitting on the curb beside me. 
"L'autre est mieux," genially put in another. 
At that several champions sprang magnani- 
mously forward — I say magnanimously, for 
really my efforts were n't too successful. Age 
and weather and the piecemeal way in which 
the chateau was built have given it that irregu- 
larity which is charming. The towers tilt and 
the roofs sag in a way to make Bob's architec- 
tural soul recoil; but I have rendered these with 
such unstinted charm that in general perspective 
the chateau seems to have aged several centuries. 
One rosy eight-year-old shook his head and de- 
clared vehemently: *'Je mettrais quinze jours 
a faire un tel dessein!" I asked him if they 
taught drawing in school. It seems that every 
Tuesday and Friday "one" draws pitchers and 
cups and casseroles and that day the whole class 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 93 

had drawn his whistle. One day they draw the 
map of £tats-Unis. *'0h," I said, "c'est de la 
que je viens, moi." 

Then began a thousand questions, and I re- 
lated what wonders I could, for joy to see the 
many eyes grow rounder and rounder. There are 
buildings in New York — I told them — there 
were buildings in New York ten times as high as 
the chateau. "Pas possible!" was the general 
verdict. My eight-year-old pushed his way out 
of the crowd and ran to the corner of the street. 
**Dis done, Julien!" he called out, "viens ici, 
ecouter ce qu'il y a aux Etats-Unis!" Another 
boy came running from the house and joined 
him, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye, 
pointing out the tower of the chateau with as- 
tounding comments. I went on describing the 
elevators in the high buildings and how fast they 
went. But they had never seen an elevator. He 
who has missed a French elevator cannot com- 
plain of any great lack, but it certainly does 
heighten the diflBculty of fifty-eight stories. I 
had finished. My pals started to go oflF, lured on 
by some one's "prelotte" (hop-scotch stone). I 
said, "Vous pouvez dire hop-scotch .f*" They all 
tried in different tones and tempos — and it was 
dr61e comme tout. We all burst out laughing 
and I started on my way. "'Voir, Mam'selle," 



94 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

they called after me, lifting their "bonnets" and 
waving. I walked home smiling. 

What I should have missed if the sketch-book 
had n't inspired me — or if French were an un- 
known tongue — or if you had n't let me come 
to France! 

You have doubtless known and detested hotel 
children — the spoiled darlings of elevator boys 
and hotel habitues; so you will be grieved to 
know that you have raised one. At my time of 
life — it is only a second childhood, I know; but 
this month at Pau has given me a luscious taste 
of being petted. The H6tel de Londres is small 
and English. Every one greets every one else in 
the dining-room, every one shares in hotel news- 
papers, and every one promenades on the boule- 
vard. Getting acquainted is easy and interest- 
ing, but for my first two weeks I did nothing but 
sleep and read. My third week was the week 
that Harold and the boys left, and as they did n't 
get their definite orders until Saturday, we had 
to say farewell nearly every day. 

This week has been my week of expecting a 
telegram, so I have steadily made the best of the 
last moment, and really feel that some of those 
wonderful English people are my friends. 

Mr. and Mrs. Moody are my favorites. She is 
tall and majestic and her face is a mass of little 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 95 

wrinkles like the ripples when you drop a pebble 
in a pool. Mr. Moody is little and bald and 
white-haired and coughing, and must always 
have his rug. He has explained the Crimean 
War to me from A to Izzard and traced a gene- 
alogy of the French kings by memory. 

Then there's Mr. Hey worth, a sort of a Wil- 
liam Gillette man from India, who was torpe- 
doed on the Arabic; a young French aviator and 
his wife, very good-looking both of them; and a 
Russian lady who in a desperation of loneliness 
took a great shine to me, which I successfully 
counteracted by having her teach me the Rus- 
sian alphabet. Last of all, there was a little 
French girl, — Bernadotte, — whose mother, an 
American, died three weeks ago, and whose 
father is at the front. If she had had any less 
than two governesses to keep her away from 
people, I should n't have had a show as the 
hotel baby. 

Well, we played bridge and walked and took 
tea and went driving and had a splendid time. 
Aunt Ella studies all morning, never takes tea, 
and goes to bed early, so that I have been a great 
deal with these other people. Mr. Moody called 
me "m'dear" and patted my hand, and Mrs. 
Moody teased me in the most tremendously 
ladylike way, and we had a splendid time. When 



96 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

my telegram finally came, it seemed very sud- 
den; and they were no end nice about my going. 
Mrs. Moody said how much she would miss the 
Donna of the next room. (We had become ac- 
quainted by my hearing them gargle and their 
hearing me laughing over my letters from home, 
and singing "La Donna e Mobile" to myself.) 
One day I called Mr. Moody's attention to the 
fact that I had changed my time of departure. 
He said, " Quite in keeping, my dear. La Donna 
e Mobile! " As I was finally going, he, in the 
sweetest way and the most English English, 
quoted what Boswell said when he heard of 
Johnson's death. "The gayety of nations is 
eclipsed," and said that he hoped to encounter 
the gayety in Paris. I said that I hated to go, 
but, — and here. Plagiarism, gentle presence! 
lit on my brow, — "This Donna likes to be en 
automobile.'* It proved to be a wonderful exit 
speech. 

Even Teresa said she regretted my going, 
"On s'amuse bien quand M'lle est la," and 
when I said, "Hasta luego!" she answered feel- 
ingly, "Hasta luego!" — perhaps our most 
felicitous Spanish conversation. 

It has been more than I had dreamed, this 
stay in Pau. The mountains, the country, the 
aviation, and the people. I tried to repay the 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 97 

kindness that was shown me, and I realize that 
young people and happy people are scarce now, 
so that any one of my age and spirits would have 
had as cordial a reception. Those older folk 
were lonely and I was different, that's all. C'est 
la guerre. 

We are passing through lovely country. It is 
sunset-time and the shepherd boys are driving 
home their sheep in an orange haze. The man 
opposite us looks like the villain in the play — 
black mustache, derby well over the eyes, black 
velvet brocaded waistcoat, and gold ball cuff- 
buttons. I expected him to draw a Smith & 
Wesson on me a short time ago, but it was three 
pills (like shoe-buttons) that he had. He gulped 
them down and is now sleeping innocuously like 
a baby of two. 

My writing is only a trifle less awful than the 
roadbed — Bordeaux! 

Love. 

Esther. 



XI 

FROM ESTHER 

Paris, March, 1917. 

Dearest Father: — 

I have never told you enough about our trip 
up from Bordeaux, and so many things hap- 
pened that were interesting and the effects of 
the trip have been so lasting that I want very 
much to put you au courant. 

We left on a Wednesday for Angouleme, which 
was a beautiful day's run. The weather was 
superb, and it seemed too good to be true that 
we were actually flying down the famous poplar- 
edged roads of France in our own little car. We 
reached Angouleme at sunset-time. If you have 
ever been there, you will remember the wonder- 
ful situation of the city. It riSes high in the cen- 
ter of a plain and the walk around the walls af- 
fords a beautiful view. After getting settled in 
the hotel, we made the circuit of the town and 
watched the shades of a pink and gold sunset 
slowly deepen into the purple of twilight. 

I rose early the next morning, before the 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 99 

others were up, and took a few pictures. I had 
a lovely ramble among the old churches. 

It was on leaving Angouleme that I cleverly 
took the wrong road, which added fully fifty kil- 
ometres to our day's run. We found ourselves at 
about two o'clock in La Rochefoucauld. Every- 
where we were in search of essence, and as we 
found plenty of it there, Marje forgave my stu- 
pidity. As we knew we could make Poitiers 
that night, anyway, Mrs. Shurtleff said that it 
made no difference. After having given one look 
at the lovely chateau, I felt personally very 
pleased with myself. We had luncheon at a 
funny little inn, which was so stuffy inside that 
we insisted upon having them serve our omelets 
on the front porch. They thought, of course, 
that we were crazy and the windows were 
crowded with faces showing ill-concealed curi- 
osity. 

We went up to the chateau and found an old 
woman there who was glad to take us around. 
The present Duke and Duchess of La Rochefou- 
cauld have not lived in the chateau since the 
beginning of the war. She is an American with 
millions who has restored most lavishly but in 
the best possible taste the interior of the fine old 
castle. The only son and heir died, at the age of 
seven, a few years ago. A charming marble bust 



100 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

of the child placed in the chapel gave a pathetic 
note to the whole place. We stopped at Ruffec 
that afternoon, having been advised not to miss 
the place where they manufacture p^tes de foie 
gras and truffles. The fattest woman I ever saw 
has a little shop in a courtyard where the finest 
canned goods are put up. She showed us her 
storeroom of thousands of cans, and I felt like 
buying a couple of thousand until I found out 
how much she charged. As it was, we bought 
six or seven cans, arguing that it was pure econ- 
omy to eat pate with bread at the side of the 
road instead of going to a hotel for luncheon 
every day. 

We made Poitiers that night just after dark, 
dead tired. We slept late in the morning and 
had a terrific time making the car start. We had 
time to stop only at a few stores before going on 
om* way, so that at the present writing I can't 
tell you the difference in the general topography 
between Poitiers and Jersey City. One thing I 
do remember is that Harold made a careful note, 
on the guide that he wrote out for me, that the 
Field of the Cloth of Gold was near Poitiers; and 
as I am a perfect sight-seeing fiend I was bound 
that I would see it. While manicuring the car in 
the garage and pouring gasoline and oil into 
every joint and crevice, I tried to find out from 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 101 

the garage-man where I could find (and here 
Marje disappeared inside the bonnet) "le 
champs de I'etoffe d'or." He thought it was a 
part of the car and said that he was sure that it 
was not that that was out of order. I gave up the 
search and found when I reached Paris that such 
Field is near Dieppe, a good three hundred miles 
from Poitiers. 

I have mentioned stores, I believe. Well, it 
was here that Folly for the first time in many 
well-ordered months jumped out of my pocket. 
I have always been crazy about leopards, as you 
know; especially this winter I have wanted to 
get a leopard's skin, but 1 did not think that 
even the "miscellaneous" column in my ac- 
counts would justify the purchase of any jungle 
trophies. I asked at Revillon's one day the price 
of a perfect beauty that was in the window, and 
found that it was three hundred francs. In Poi- 
tiers Marje and I were walking innocently down 
a side street looking for some crackers and jam 
and a chamois skin through which to strain the 
gasoline, when, suddenly, I saw in the window a 
little yellow leopard that just twined himself 
around my heart! I soon had him spread out on 
the counter and was haggling with the woman 
over the price. She said sixty francs, with tears 
in her eyes. I objected strenuously and Marje 



102 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

walked off in the other direction. She hates me 
when I am trying to "marchander" and sud- 
denly pretends that she is not with me and 
does n't know me, which is absurd when we are 
often the only two American girls in the town. 
Well, I bought the leopard — "Leo" on further 
acquaintance — for forty francs, and this time 
tears were in the very voice of his former mis- 
tress. We left Poitiers in a cloud of dust, not 
having seen one building, one church, or one 
view. Baedeker lay sulking in the back of the 
car, but Marje was correspondingly exultant. 
There is a certain antipathy between Marje 
and a statistic which may be noticed. We had 
luncheon by the side of the road with Leo as 
guest of honor. I thought Mrs. Shurtleff would 
die of laughter when she saw him and when she 
discovered a large bald spot on his left shoulder. 
We all laughed so that we could hardly negoti- 
ate another truffle! I must tell you that weeks 
afterwards, when I told Aunt Ella that I had 
bought a leopard skin in Poitiers, expecting her 
to throw up her hands at such foolishness, she 
sat up straight and said: " You did? Oh! I wish 
I had known there were leopard skins in Poitiers, 
— I just love them." 

Tours was our next stop. We went straight 
to the cathedral, which is very lovely. As we 




-/• r 







Marjorie and Mrs. Shurtleff, with the Leopard Skin 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 103 

walked around toward the back, I saw a beauti- 
ful black dog tied to a little push-cart and ap- 
proached it making appropriate remarks. Quick 
as a wink it jumped up and bit me, tearing my 
dress, but giving me only a scratch. This was 
considered very funny, as I had been remark- 
ing what a way I had with animals. I have 
since learned that such dogs are trained to bite 
anything that approaches the push-cart in its 
master's absence. 

Marje was particularly anxious to go the 
rounds of the antique shops in Tours. Her 
mother and father had once spent a good deal 
of time there, and she was anxidus to see the city 
and also to try to match some china that her 
mother had bought there. I usually stiffen my 
neck and keep my eyes front when I see an 
antique shop and especially since Leo has come 
into my life! I have been really meticulous in 
my studied inattention! But here we positively 
ran into the jaws of the enemy. Marje bought 
a million dollars' worth of gorgeous dark blue 
and gold cups, the kind that are supposed to be 
made only in Tours. I came off with a little imi- 
tation one for two francs, fifty centimes, which 
will mean as much to me when I drink tea from 
it with Leo at my back. 

From Tours we ran along the edge of the 



104 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

Loire. "We were weary of asking for essence, so 
you can imagine our delight to be able to get 
as much as we wanted just outside of the city. 
You see, essence is practically unobtainable in 
Paris, and at best at a very high figure, so that 
we were anxious to get enough to run on for a 
while until we should be able to get a special 
order from the Ministere de la Guerre on ac- 
count of ours being a work for charity. 

We spent that night at Amboise. It was bit- 
terly cold, but wonderfully picturesque. The 
hotel faced on the water front, and up the hill, 
and on the right, was a lovely chateau. The 
"Cheval blanc," as the hotel is called, was very 
quaint, but, like all things quaint, as cold as an 
iceberg. We sat around the little stove in the 
dining-room after dinner and did our accounts, 
no simple matter. We got to laughing so over 
the state of our affairs that our additions and 
subtractions — chiefly subtractions — showed 
the effects, no doubt. That famous black velvet 
hat of mine I had worn down in the train when I 
went to Pau, not knowing that I should make 
the trip home in a Ford ambulance. Fortunately 
I had my little brown hat with me to wear back, 
but the body of the car was so congested, with 
our gasoline, our suitcases, the thermos bot- 
tles, Marje's china, and the automobile tools, 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 105 

that the hat suffered considerably — to put it 
mildly. 

At Amboise Mrs. Shurtleff admitted that she 
had been very ill during the night. She wanted 
to go to Chenonceaux just the same, however. 
We gave only a fleeting glance at the gem of all 
the chateaux and hurried on to Blois. I was 
driving that morning and I shall never forget 
the ride. Mrs. Shurtleff was really suffering 
badly and freezing cold; she was anxious to get 
the first train to Paris to get home to her hus- 
band. So, of course, you can imagine what a 
hurry we were in, but the roads were rough and 
full of country carts, and I could see that driving 
fast made her nervous. It was cold and windy, 
as I have said; but I had my coat open and was 
covered with perspiration by the time we crossed 
the bridge and arrived at Blois. 

We took Mrs. Shurtleff to a little hotel close 
to the railroad-station, where she lay down and 
begged us to leave her and go off and have a 
good time. We said that we would and that we 
would come back in plenty of time to put her on 
the 7.40 train for Paris. We had n't had any- 
thing to eat all day and were too tired to think; 
and the thought of the chateau was a little too 
much for us. So we went to a patisserie for some 
hot chocolate. We ate every cake in the place 



106 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

and got up so much spunk that we decided to 
give the chateau the once over. It was late and 
the place was supposed to be closed, but a nice 
guide took us through. When we returned we 
found Mrs. Shurtleff a little better, and with 
one grand effort she rose and took the train. 

We went to a comfortable hotel and did n't 
waste much time in getting between the sheets. 
The next day was fine, and Marje suggested 
going to Chaumont and Chambord and not 
trying to get to Paris until the following day. 
She said that as long as she reached Paris by 
Sunday night it would be all right. So we went 
to that heavenly Chaumont, my favorite of all 
the chateaux, — do you remember my writing 
enthusiastically about Blois on the way down to 
Pau? It was the castle of Chaumont that I 
thought was the castle of Blois, and it is as 
fascinating when you actually visit it as it is 
from the train; but as for Blois I never want to 
see it again. Chaumont is filled with beautiful 
tapestries and furniture. The situation high 
over the Loire is magnificent, and it is the only 
chateau that we saw which is set in a large park, 
studded with great trees. How I hated to hurry 
away! In the afternoon we went to Chambord, 
which is a marvel of construction, but cold and 
unromantic. It is hardly furnished at all and its 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 107 

most interesting feature is the promenade on the 
roof, where you walk in and out among its three 
hundred and sixty-five chimneys. We arrived in 
Orleans at about five o'clock and went straight 
to the cathedral. Jeanne d'Arc completely dom- 
inates the city and the cathedral; the latter is 
to me one of the most beautiful I have ever 
seen, being harmonious throughout in style and 
period. The stained glass is uniform — modern, 
of course — telling the story of the "Pucelle de 
France." Marje and I clung to each other in the 
fading light and drank in the quiet and beauty 
of those great arches. 

We went to a very nice hotel, and in engaging 
a room we asked the proprietor how far it was 
to Paris. We said we wanted to be sure to make 
it by Sunday night. He said: "But this is Sun- 
day night." We looked at him amazed and 
gave in to his whim for the moment. We stepped 
out and bought the paper and found that it 
really was Sunday! I never felt so completely 
lost in my life! Of course we had forgotten to 
count out the time we had spent in Blois with 
Mrs. Shurtleff , but it gave us quite a start, I can 
tell you, particularly as Marje was so anxious to 
get home- We did not let the grass grow under 
our feet the next day, believe me. We had 
luncheon at Chartres and gave about ten min- 



108 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

utes to the cathedral. I drove from Chartres, 
and at Maintenon I stopped to take a picture of 
the chateau reflected in the lake. Marje wan- 
dered off for a few minutes to watch the old wo- 
men in the market-place, and while I was stand- 
ing there alone two officers came up to me and 
one of them said, "Are you English?" I said, 
"No, American." "Have you your papers, your 
permis de conduire?" I felt my knees give way, 
but I hung on to the bridge that I was standing 
on, and said smilingly, "Oui, Monsieur." "All 
right," he said hesitatingly, and passed on. Of 
course, it was only Marje that had her permis, 
and I don't know just what would have hap- 
pened if they had pressed the matter further, for 
I did n't have a sign of a permis and they had 
seen me drive. Marje insists, however, that it 
would have been all right because she could 
have said that she was teaching me. I was pretty 
grateful, I can tell you, to have had one smile 
left just the same. 

At Versailles we were surprised to find that we 
could buy still more gasoline. We could n't un- 
derstand because there is never enough in Paris. 
We bought all that we could carry, however, and 
started for home. When we came to the cross- 
roads where it says: "Saint-Cloud, 11 K.M. and 
Sevres 6 K.M.," we decided to take the road 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 109 

to Sevres, although people had always warned 
us not to. We soon found out why. The road is 
hilly and covered with cobblestones the entire 
way; but we really did n't care, when we caught 
sight of the Eiffel Tower. At the gate of Paris 
there was an armed soldier standing in a sentry 
box, and as we slowed down to go through the 
gate I leaned out and said, "Bon jour. Mon- 
sieur." 

Once in Paris we found that we were com- 
pletely lost, having brought everything with us 
but a map of Paris. It was too provoking, but 
here my refugee knowledge did me good service, 
and I picked my way in and out among the 
slums and found the way straight to our Lion 
de BeKort. We had enough energy left to start 
unpacking that dear little car that was stuffed 
full to the roof. The people at the pension were 
all excitement, and the maids ran up and down 
stairs helping us with our things. We went over 
at once to Mrs. Shurtleff. We found her looking 
worn. We knew how anxious she must have 
been to know that we had arrived safely, so that 
you can imagine how we felt when we tiptoed 
into the room and found that she was so weak 
that all she could do was to turn her head on the 
pillow and say, "Hello, girls!" We found that 
she had fainted twice coming up on the train. 



110 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

but that Miss Curtis had taken care of her at the 
station. 

After seeing Mrs. Shurtleff, we took the car 
to Miss Curtis's because we knew no place to 
leave it overnight. We did not feel much like 
a triumphal entry, but Miss Curtis and Miss 
Sturgis were so glad to see us that all we had 
to do was to answer questions and get back to 
Place Denfert as soon as possible. 

Well, that is our trip. It certainly was inter- 
esting and it laid the foundations of my friend- 
ship with Marje, who is the finest ever. It is 
worth everything to me to have her companion- 
ship. 

Time is up. Devotedly, 

Esther. 



XII 

FROM MAEJORIE 

12 Place Denfert-Rochereau, Paris. 
(March 26. 1917.) 

My dearest Daddy: — 

Writing nowadays is rather like the shooting 
the men do at the front; they never can see if 
their shots get there. I am never sure if my 
letters get to you, there has been so much 
trouble with the mails. The head man at 
Morgan, Harjes told Dr. G. the other day that 
they had just received a great deal of mail — 
the first for a long time — which was all wet. 
The papers were ruined, but the letters had 
fared better as a whole. I wonder what that 
meant? 

As you probably know by the papers, we had 
a Zeppelin raid or alarm last week. It was very 
exciting. I have never heard such a noise as the 
*'gare a vous" trumpets or horns — or what- 
ever they are — make. Esther Root and I stood 
out on our balcony for a long time watching 
the aeroplanes overhead. They had searchlights 
and made a beautiful effect. The Zeppelin was, 



112 # OVER PERISCOPE POND 

of course, brought down way outside Paris. 
They never get here, because the air guard is so 
very efficient; also they have to go right over 
the army and are always discovered. However, 
I can now say that I have been in Paris during 
a "near-raid," at least! This almost makes up 
to me for the disappointment of not having 
had one during my interminably long stay in 
London. 

I have one very serious confession to make to 
you. I have been religiously keeping accounts 
ever since I left New York, first in dollars on the 
ship, then in pounds, shillings, and pence while 
in London, and then shifted to francs when I got 
here. You have no idea what a gorgeous account- 
book it was, or still is, but — here is the tragedy 
■ — I lost the dear book last week, somewhere in 
the metro. There is only one chance in hundreds 
that I will find it again. I don't know just what 
I can do about it. I can't possibly remember 
what I spent, but I will make a rough account 
which will give you some idea. 

This room which I have now is only ten francs 
a day, and is much nicer. It has splendid hot 
running water in the closet, a nice balconj'-, and 

the food is delicious. Mme. H is very nice, 

and so are the other boarders. Some queer ones, 
too, — two sisters from Poland who tell us 



OVER PERISCOPE POND ^ 113 

stories that make our hair curl! Also a Mile. 
Germain, who is studying to be a doctor, and 
tells us, at meal-time, about the latest corpses 
from the Morgue she has cut up! It is wonderful 
to me the way the French don't mind what they 
say at table. 

I am wondering if I shall do all the queer 
things that I am now doing, when I get home. 
I take my fork and knife off my plate every 
course and lay them on the tablecloth. I 
**swab" (it's the only word) my plate with a 
piece of bread, to get all the gravy. I eat bread 
by the yard (literally), while I never touch it at 
home. You would laugh to hear what we have 
for meals, and yet they are delicious, — mostly 
vegetables, a little meat, very well done, and 
with delicious sauce, and never anything but 
cheese and confitures for dessert. Although the 
tea-shops are all open, you can notice a slight 
difference in their cakes. They no longer have 
frosting in the real sense of the word, but are 
covered with cream or paste or powdered sugar. 
The fillings are not as sweet as they once were, 
but they are still delicious. Do you suppose I 
will want white wine with luncheon and red 
with dinner, when I get back.^* I can't get along 
without it over here. It is so funny when you 
once begin to think it over. It does make me 



114 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

tired when I hear people say that living in 
Paris in war- time *'is very different," and then 
heave a sigh. Of course, I don't know what it 
is like here in peace-times, but I do know that 
we are all very comfortable. We all have luxuries, 
and there are wonderfully few restrictions, I 
think. You should hear Mr. Ayrault — who has 
just come back from a four months* tour of 
inspection of prison camps in Germany — talk. 
He says we don't know what war means here, 
compared with Germany, where everything is 
distributed by cards, — everything except goose, 
and that, as a result, is prohibitively high. He 
is most interesting in his accounts of Germany. 
I wish I could write you all, but I don't sup- 
pose Mr. Censor would approve. By the bye, 
of all my letters from America, only one from 
C. Morss has ever been opened. 

In one of your letters you spoke of fighting 
the "White Rats." I don't care much for the 
idea. Don't, for goodness' sake, get stabbed in 
the back or poisoned by a lot of bum vaudeville 
artists! I speak of stabbing and such. If you 
hear of a young American being killed by a 
bicycle over here, you may be sure that it is I, 
and it will be such an ignominious death. A 
taxicab I could bear, but I seem fated to be 
killed by a bicycle. They don't use horns here, 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 115 

and just go whizzing by. I have just avoided 
two already. 

Spring seems to be trying hard to get here, 
— not too successful so far in its attempts, 
but there is some green grass in the gardens, 
and on Sundays the Punch and Judys and 
merry-go-rounds are open on the Champs 
Ely sees. 

I know I am getting cross-eyed, and walking 
up and down the Champs Elysees is doing it. 
There are so many interesting people, so many 
uniforms, that it is horrible. I try to look both 
ways at once. Then tea. I have been to Rumpel- 
meyer's several times. It is very popular here, 
although in London no one would go to Rumpel- 
meyer's, for it was considered too "Boche." I 
am afraid the French love their cakes too much! 
Such people as you see there, regular "coo- 
coos," you would say. It is very amusing to sit 
in a corner, and watch and listen, and, of course, 
the food — to say nothing of the joy of having 
ice cream — is to be considered. 

I have been going over several other Vesti- 
aires lately, and I am becoming more and more 
convinced that Mrs. Shurtleff's is among the 
best organized institutions of its kind. Naturally 
some of the Government things are much more 
complicated and wonderful. I can't help asking 



116 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

myself more and more what France would have 
done and would do without the assistance she 
receives from America. 

Your very loving daughter, 

Marje. 



XIII 

FROM MAEJORIE 

12 Place Denfert-Rochereau, Parit. 
{April 5, 1917.) 

Dearest Mother: — 

Having gotten rather tired out the last few 
weeks, and having had several bad headaches, 
I decided to take a few days' rest now, — for 
I have at last finished the card catalogue, — be- 
fore I start out on my new duties, which are to 
be many and various. So here I am in bed with 
the machine on my lap, having a good time, 
writing to you. Things have sort of piled in 
on us at the work lately. It seems to me so 
very important that none of the workers should 
fail now, so that is why I am taking these few 
days to get my breath before going on. Mrs. 
Shurtleff has at last come in from Neuilly with 
Gertrude, who seems to be doing remarkably 
well. I can tell you that we are glad to have 
Mrs. S. home again. I am particularly so, for I 
have had to go out for her and take her back 
every afternoon, and as she wanted to be here 
for the work as near nine o'clock in the mornings 



118 ;OVER PERISCOPE POND 

as possible, and the garage, or remise, is some 
distance from here, I have had to make pretty 
early starts. I found to my surprise that I was 
leaving this house at eight o'clock, and, after a 
struggle with the car to start it, — for it has no 
starter and we have to grind it, — I would beat 
it out to Neuilly, which, being outside the gate, 
is an awful nuisance. You are stopped going and 
coming, and have to get a red slip saying how 
much gas you have in the tank, and you have to 
be very careful, for if they do measure how much 
you have and find that you said either too much 
or too little, they are very strict, and there is a 
heavy fine. 

If, for any reason, I should die suddenly just 
now, and you had my brain dissected, you 
would find, I am sure, that at least one half was 
a mass of figures, which, if you studied, you 
would find was the result of my constant reduc- 
ing gallons to litres, and miles to kilometres, and 
my endeavoring to figure out without measuring 
in the tank, how much essence remains. Also 
you would find "essence," where to get it, how 
much to pay for it, — "shall we stop here and 
buy some, or chance it till we get home?" writ- 
ten all over my gray matter. I am at present 
entirely responsible for the car, and, delightful 
as that should sound to you, it is a privilege not 




H 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 119 

entirely free from care. The question of getting 
gasoline alone, in these days, is hard enough. 
Then I have to keep an account of just what the 
car costs per day, and also to keep it in good 
shape, for it is impossible to get mechanics these 
times. They are all under the Government. We 
have for the car (which, by the bye, we named 
"Nilly," for the other car being "Willy," and 
this one having come over as I told you without 
anything — absolutely nil) a small hole in the 
wall off a peculiar alleyway, which is known 
over here as a "remise." It is just big enough to 
get into, and is fairly difficult to navigate, for it 
faces a cement wall, and one has to back in and 
turn just so, or else hit the wall. But at the rate 
Rootie is going now, there will not be much wall 
left to trouble us soon! 

I have enjoyed the rides out and back with 
Mrs. Shurtleff ever so much in one way, for it 
gives me a chance to have her all to myself, and 
that is something that few people can have with 
Mrs. Shurtleff. We have had some bully talks. 
One day I went in to the hospital, — which is the 
American Hospital, by the way, not connected 
with the American Ambulance out there, but a 
hospital for Americans sick over here, and is a 
model in many ways. I went all over it, and, 
incidentally, met Mrs. Robert W. Service, the 



120 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

wife of the man who wrote those poems about 
Western life, very much in KipHng's style. 
Daddy has them. "The Cremation of Sam 
Magee " is one of the best. He has just published 
"Rhymes of a Red Cross Man," — war poems, 
needless to say. Well, Mrs. Service was at the 
hospital, with two kids, twins, eight weeks old, 
dear little things. She herself was very sweet 
and rather pathetic, I thought, trying to do 
everything in the American way, although she 
is really a French woman. I was impressed with 
the hospital and the nurses, and it gave me a 
nice, secure feeling that, if I was ever sick, I 
could be so in the good American way, even 
way over here. 

I have been out with Agathe, the maid at the 
Vestiaire, almost every afternoon, sending off 
packages, and then later returning Mrs. S. to 
Neuilly. She stayed out there all the time with 
Gertrude, sleeping in a horrid little hotel where 
there was no heating, but she got comfort from 
being with Gertrude in the afternoons and eve- 
nings. By the time I got the office work done, 
and did some chores and extra leaving and call- 
ing for bundles, I found that it was after seven 
before I put the car finally to bed, covered up 
and locked up, with the precious bidons of 
essence standing in tidy rows behind the car. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 121 

Then letter- writing in the evenings, and making 
reports, extra typing for Mrs. Newson, and all 
the hundred and one things that come up every 
day, reading and listening to Rootie play, — 
which she does so very wonderfully, — this was 
getting to be too long a day, so I have cut it out. 
Monday was my last day to go for Mrs. S., as 
she brought Gertrude in yesterday. Just think, 
only eight days from the operation. I hope that 
they are not going to let her do too much, but I 
do not believe that they will. 

Yesterday I was a little tired, anyway, and 
had a headache, and I was told to take a Mrs. 
Jackson, one of the workers, off for all day in the 
car, calling, as usual. I had no idea where I was 
going, or what I was going to do, but I was given 
the address and told that it was an all-day job — 
lunching with Mrs. J. too. I adore Mrs. J., she 
is such a sport, and, like all the rest of the people 
over here, has been so good to me. I got lost on 
the way to her house. I never saw such an elu- 
sive street. I swear it moved on the map, while 
I was watching out for taxis. You have no idea 
what sport it is trying to find one's way about 
Paris with a map in one hand and driving with 
the other. Fortunately, my sense of direction 
is fairly good, and after a time I arrived on 
the street — going in the wrong direction, of 



122 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

course. If any one can tell me the French sys- 
tem of numbering their streets, I would be 
obliged. 

I used to think that Boston streets were 
mixey, because they changed names once in a 
while, and Summer Street becomes Winter after 
it crosses Washington, for some reason best 
known to itself. In Paris, a street is one thing 
on one side of a lamp-post, and then suddenly 
adopts the name of the nearest square on the 
other side of the post. The odd and even num- 
bers of a street run entirely differently on the 
two sides of the street, so that when looking for 
forty and you see thirty-seven, you think that 
forty is apt to be fairly near on the opposite side 
of the street, but no, no, it is a couple of blocks 
ahead or past, for the numbers do not run evenly, 
and twelve faces thirty-seven! Of course, all the 
numbers are put up good and high, so that they 
won't be stolen, I suppose, and also so that when 
you want to see them, and are walking, you can 
turn your face skywards and, walking ahead, fall 
off the sidewalk and amuse the children! Also in 
the car, with this body, one has to lean out the 
side and crane, and I can tell you my swanlike 
neck comes in handy, to say nothing of my eyes, 
for the ingenuity shown by whoever hides the 
numbers on the houses — just behind a blind or 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 123 

beneath a scroll, or to right or left or beside the 
doorway — is wonderful ! 

As I started to say, before I got off on this 
feeling dissertation on the Parisian street names 
and numbers, I was late to Mrs. Jackson, and 
found her waiting and eager to be off, for there 
was lots to be done. As I knew that there was 
not any too much gas in the tank, I emptied one 
of my extra bidons in (I always carry two extra 
ones; each holds five litres of gas, makes about 
five gallons in all). I said as I did so that it 
smelled like bum gas, and then thought no more 
about it. We started cheerfully, and got about 
three blocks, on a nice muddy asphalt street, 
and she died, quietly, but very dead, indeed. I 
got out and cranked for a time, but soon knew 
that there was trouble deeper than mere crank- 
ing would remove. So off came my hat and coat, 
and I rolled my sleeves up and went to it. I 
found the spark seemed all right, and by a proc- 
ess of elimination found out that just what I 
dreaded from the first was wrong — the car- 
buretor. By this time the sidewalk crowd had 
grown considerably, for the sight of an American 
girl, hatless, sleeves rolled up, hair flying, bob- 
bing under the car and into the hood, was not 
missed by many residents of that district, I can 
tell you. A very nice gentleman pushed his way 



124 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

through the gaping crowd, which was getting as 
near and as much in the way as possible, except 
when I turned every few minutes and froze the 
half-dozen most forward with a glance calcu- 
lated to freeze, and which I wished could kill, for 
anything that gets me peeved is an audience, 
particularly a French one. The nice American 
said that he "knew nothing about a car," but 
"could he help?" He could. I dispatched him 
for help from the nearest garage so quick that 
he could n't change his mind. By the time he 
returned, I had the feed-pipe of the carburetor 
all off (I know that these names mean nothing to 
you, but they will to Daddy), and the two me- 
chanics which he had found would not, of course, 
believe a simple woman — and I guess that I 
looked more simple than I felt even by this time, 
for they had thoughtfully begun to clean the 
streets while I was exploring under the car, and 
I was not only muddy but wet. 

After a heated discussion in Anglo-French, the 
men believed me, and stopped cranking, and, on 
turning the pipe down to let the gas run out, we 
were delighted to see pure aqua pura run out — 
not gas at all! Now, don't you call that the 
limit? The last bidon of gas which I had put in 
was n't gas at all — it was water, pure and sim- 
ple. Of course, we had to wash out the tank, 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 125 

waste quarts of essence, which is more precious 
than gold these days, and then clean out the 
feed-pipe and carburetor. You never saw such a 
job, and all performed on the street! All told, 
that little drink of water which I gave the Ford 
cost about one and a half hours of time, and 
about sixteen francs in money. 

We got under way again, but it was so late 
that nice Mrs. Jackson had to rearrange all her 
plans. However, we got a great deal done, and, 
incidentally, I had a wonderful day being with 
her. We lunched at a queer little restaurant 
over in Montmartre — had hors d'oeuvres, 
cheese omelette, lots of very good bread (at 
least, as bread goes these days; how I shall enjoy 
some toast made out of white bread!), and cream 
cheese and apple sauce, with coffee which was 
the real article — not chicory or burnt almonds, 
or whatever it is that they give you at half 
the places. We talked about everything under 
heaven and earth, and I came away from lunch- 
eon more than ever convinced that she is a 
wonder. She asked me to go South with her 
the 22d of this month, but I am not going 
to. First place, the work needs me, and second 
place, I do not want to take my vacation un- 
til this summer, and then take it all in one 
big lump, doing something worth while. I am 



126 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

awfully complimented that she asked me, any- 
way. 

I went back to her house for tea after we did 
some more calls in the afternoon, and had an- 
other nice talk with her in front of her fire, in 
the nicest apartment — all etchings in her study 
and such dainty nice things. I can tell you it is 
pretty nice to have tea from a silver service once 
in a while, only it makes me sort of homesick for 
the library and Josey to scrap with over the re- 
maining piece of cake. I suppose that she will 
be so grown up when I get back that I will not 
be able to henpeck her any more at all. I think 
from her letters that she and I are going to un- 
derstand each other much better when we get 
together again, and that we will pull together, 
not apart. I wish that I could possibly tell her 
how much her letters have pleased me, for I know 
very well what a nuisance it is to write me, and 
she has been so faithful. After tea with Mrs. 
Jackson, I went over to see Ibb, who has been 
resting off for a few days, and found her better. 
Then I toddled the old Ford home, and, when I 
arrived here, went to bed myself. I found 1 was 
a good deal more tired than I realized at the 
time, so yesterday I just lay abed all day, and 
am doing the same thing to-day. As a result, I 
feel like a fighting cock this afternoon, and am 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 127 

going to do some work here at home to-morrow, 
for Mrs. S. wants me to go easy and not go to the 
Vestiaire until Monday or Tuesday, for Monday 

is a holiday. Mme. H is too good to me; she 

has had all sorts of special nice things cooked for 
me, keeps the fire going in my room all day, and 
with that and the sunshine, and every one being 
so good to me, I feel like a different person al- 
ready. Esther is a very fussy nurse, and won't 
let me turn over for myself if she can do it for 
me; and to-day Mrs. Jackson, dear, busy soul, 
came in to see me. I could n't get over it. It is 
too wonderful the way people are so good to me 
here: Mrs. Shurtleff, Mrs. Jackson, Mrs. Chris- 
tie, Dr. and Mrs. Lines, and I don't know how 
many others. I just love them all, and am alto- 
gether too lucky for words. 

Every one seems to have a different idea as to 
what the effect of our entering the war will be. 
I hope that you will approve of my helping by 
driving, if they call for volunteers for the Ameri- 
can Ambulance, for I would like to do it very 
much, and think that I am up to it. I naturally 
will cable you before I do anything definite, and 
will consider it very seriously before I leave Mrs. 
Shurtleff, as Daddy told me to. If, however, 
America needs any help which it is within my 
very limited power to give, I could not be happy. 



128 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

feeling that I was working for the French only. 
This is, of course, all "if"! 

I have been saving the papers lately, for they 
are interesting, and I thought that we would 
have a good time comparing them with the 
American papers when I get home — seeing 
what they have let us know over here and what 
they tell you over there about us here. I wonder 
which place is really the most interesting. 

Of course, all the mail is coming in the most 
peculiar order, yours of February 28th arriving 
in the most dilapidated, water-soaked, almost 
illegible condition, long after yours of March 2d, 
which came before yours of March 11th. I never 
knew such wonderful letters as you and Daddy 
write to me. I simply read and re-read them by 
the hour. Thank goodness, you feel that I am 
telling you just what you want to know. You 
have no idea how hard it is to write, for there are 
so many things to say that one longs to be a 
Bernard Shaw and be able to say them all, and 
not be just plain Marjorie Crocker, who can 
only ramble on without any rhyme or reason, 
as she talks! 

For goodness' sake, take my letters in doses, 
not all at once. I know that it is awful to rant on 
as long as I do, but I have so much to say, I sim- 
ply cannot stop. That is why I only write once a 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 129 

week or so, because I had so much rather take a 
long time to it, when I get started, than to write 
a lot of hasty notes. Well, this is over now. 
I am going into Rootie's room to listen to her 
play. She is so wonderful. She just takes care of 
me, and to-night, to finish oflF a wonderful day, 
Mrs. Shurtleff has just been in and was too nice. 
I adore that lady more every time I see her. We 
all do, and that is, of course, the secret of the 
success of her work here! We all adore her so. 
She made me promise that I would not come 
back to the work until I felt really like it, and 
my headache was all gone, and so forth. Then 
we planned out my work in the future, now that 
the catalogue is done, and it just sounds too 
good to be true — just enough visiting to keep 
in touch, and some oflSce work and some auto- 
mobiling, and calling with Rootie, which is, of 
course, a perfect lark. I am so happy to-night, 
so much more so than I have been, since I got 
Daddy's cable on Sunday. Well, lots and lots 
and lots of love to you all, 

Mabje. 



XIV 

FROM ESTHEE 

Place Denfert-Rochereau, Paris XIV^, 
April 8, 1917. 

Dearest Aunt Esther: — 

It is curious that gloom is so absolutely 
gloomy and that happiness is so happy and full. 
There are times when I cast about for something 
to write home about without finding anything 
— or rather nothing that is n't so black that it 
seems only selfishness to sit down and enlarge 
upon it. To-night, on the contrary, I have spent 
a most wonderful Easter, and looking backward 
and forward I can see a thousand things that I 
should love to tell you about. It can be only a 
few for the moment, for the electricity will be 
turned off in a few minutes. 

This morning Marjorie, my new but very dear 
friend who lives here at the pension, woke me 
up and said that the sun was shining. It has 
rained and snowed without a break lately and 
the sunlight seemed a glorious novelty. 

We had brealdast together, then went to the 
patriotic service at the American Church, where 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 131 

Dr. Shurtleff preached. The long-waited-for 
news of our actually going to war had rejoiced us 
all yesterday, but it was more thrilling than we 
ever could have imagined to drive past the big 
French Administration Buildings and see the 
Stars and Stripes waving with the other Allies' 
flags in the Easter sunshine! To be one of the 
Allies at last! To have our flag and the French 
flag flying side by side as they should be, to have 
our great country wake up and fight its own 
fight — it is not only Easter but Thanksgiving 
to-day. 

The American Church was full — men from 
the American Ambulance Service sat in uniform 
in the front rows and the church was decorated 
in flowers and flags. Dr. Shurtleff preached a 
fine sermon. He said that to lose life was to gain 
it, and that this war was fought that war should 
cease — that the world should know Christ's 
peace. 

A lovely primrose plant was waiting for us 
here. After all, the cold and snow, flowers, es- 
pecially the pink primrose, are heavenly. In the 
afternoon Mrs. Shurtleff came over to say that 
the pianist who was to play at Dr. Shurtleff's 
little Sunday evening meeting had been taken 
ill, and would I play. Fortunately I had given a 
short programme last Monday at the last meet- 



132 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

ing of a woman's club, so that I was glad to be 
able to fill in. 

I must tell you about last Monday. Not long 
ago I exchanged the little old upright that I have 
had all winter for a wonderful Pleyel (French 
make corresponding to Stein way). This piano 
seenis to me to be the most wonderful instrument 
I ever heard, and I love it and pat it and dust it 
and play it, never tiring. It has saved my life 
these past weeks. 

Knowing that I have been playing more of 
late, Mrs. Baldwin asked me to play for the 
woman's club that I spoke of. I could n't think 
of much to play, and of course I have no music 
with me, but I was glad to have something to 
make me practice, and I accepted. 

The club meets every Monday afternoon to 
sew and knit garments for the war orphans — 
Mrs. Cassette, a dear lady who used to live in 
Chicago, is the president, and when it was time 
for me to play, she made the announcement, and 
proceeded to enlarge on the Root family in gen- 
eral and grandfather in particular. She spoke of 
his influence during the Civil War, and of his 
and Uncle Fred's help in establishing good music 
in Chicago. She spoke beautifully and gave me 
an at-home sort of feeling to think of her know- 
ing my relatives; but it was hard for me when 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 133 

she started speaking of me as the third gener- 
ation, etc. After I had played I met a great 
many interesting people, among them the girl 
who wrote that little book of letters called 
"Mademoiselle Miss." Do you remember read- 
ing it with Mother at Bailey's last summer? 
The letters are full of imagination, and charm- 
ing, as is Miss Dare herself. We went off in a 
corner together and talked over our experiences 
at a great rate. 

To come back to Sunday evening. I played at 
the meeting the same programme as on Monday. 
To my surprise, Dr. Shurtleff also made a speech 
about grandfather, whom he knew in Chicago 
when he (Dr. Shurtleff) was a young man. 
Many people came up and spoke to me after- 
wards, and I found that lots of them knew the 
family in Chicago. Their enthusiasm was quite 
exciting and made me feel almost like writing 
war songs myself. Would n't it be wonderful to 
hear grandfather's "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp,'* 
sung in France! 

Yesterday — Easter Monday — we all gave 
up our holiday to go to the Vestiaire and help 
to move our ouvroir department into a little 
store up the street. I have explained that the 
work is carried on in an apartment on the ground 
floor at 18 rue Ernest Cresson — one room is the 



134 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

women's vestiaire, another, the men's vestiaire, 
a third Mrs. Shm*tleJBP's office, and a fourth, the 
ouvroir, where sewing and all kinds of work 
is given out to the refugees. We have been 
crowded always, but of late it has been almost 
impossible to work in the front two rooms with 
so many people doing different things at once. 
People would keep running in and out of Mrs. 
Shurtleff's office while she was dictating, to look 
up records, or to get down reserve stock from the 
shelves; the officer of the day would have to in- 
terview refugees in a corner of the ouvroir, while 
lines of other refugees were waiting to call for, 
and hand in, work — the confusion was impos- 
sible. The two rooms together are not as big as 
the den at home. 

Well, Mrs. Shurtleff, who goes around this 
world with her eyes open, I can tell you, discov- 
ered a little store that had been closed since the 
beginning of the war. It had been rented by a 
German. He was chased away in 1914, his win- 
dows broken, and the place roughly boarded up. 
Mrs. Shurtleff sought out the proprietor, rented 
it, and Jiad it repaired. Saturday word came 
that we could move in. We have been so crazy 
to spread out a little that when some one sug- 
gested that all hands should report on Easter 
Monday, — one of the great holidays here, — 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 135 

and get the moving actually done, we all volun- 
teered. At nine o'clock we started. We took 
things down off shelves, stood in line and passed 
them through the window, where Miss Curtis 
received them and stuffed them into the Ford. 
When the poor Httle car was so laden down 
with clothes and materials and bimdles that it 
looked as though it would burst a blood vessel, 
it started off and we all ran along beside it up to 
the new shop. There we formed another line, 
and unloaded the car and put the things on the 
waiting shelves. 

There were tons of stuff — it was like moving 
R. H. Macy and Company, but I can't tell you 
what fun it was. Dr. Shurtleff and each one of 
our workers, who usually work at their own 
special jobs, pitched in to sort out bundles of 
clothes, or carry yards and yards of worsted, or 
do whatever turned up. Dr. Shurtleff started 
us singing "Tipperary" as we worked, and 
we had a splendid time and accomplished won- 
ders. 

This morning when work began, there were 
the two front rooms all neatly arranged, with 
plenty of space and everybody happy. 

Well, I must close, but I shall have enough to 
tell you when I come home to outlast many a 
wood fire, and I am looking forward to the day 



136 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

when we can sit down together and talk, with 
the clock faced toward the wall! 
Much love to you always. 

Your niece, 

ESTHEB. 



XV 

FROM MARJORIE 

Sunday. 

Dearest Family: — 

Here I go again in one of these cahier affairs. 
It seems to be the best and only way to write 
you. I am this minute out at Saint-Germain — 
an hour outside of Paris. It is the place where 
Ibby Coolidge nurses. Her hospital is closed 
down now, so she is in at the "Invalides" for a 
few months. Although she lives in Paris, I don't 
see much of her, for she works from eight to 
eight, and is too tired to dine out after that. 
Rootie has been out here for ten days resting. 
The air is wonderful — so different from Paris, 
although so near. It has been getting warmer, 
and to-day we are sitting out under the trees 
writing. I can hardly believe it. If spring has 
only come, it will make so much difference. I 
have been working fairly hard these last two 
weeks, for Agathe, the maid, has been off on a 
vacation, and I have had to open the four ves- 
tiaires in the mornings — open the shutters, 
dust a little, arrange the chairs and such, build 



138 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

the fires in the offices, and generally start things. 
This, combined with doing Rootie's work, — at 
least certain parts that could not be allowed to 
wait, — has made life fairly complicated. Mrs. 
Shurtleff is letting me have my Monday off this 
week, so I have two whole glorious days out here 
with Rootie. We do nothing but sleep, eat, and 
walk. We have sticks, and so feel very safe, and 
wander far into the woods. The youngest class 
is being trained out here, — at least, part of it, 
— and they come home from their lessons every 
night at about half -past six, — about five hun- 
dred of them, in every sort and description of 
uniform, all out of step, four abreast, except 
when they want to run ahead and speak to a 
friend a few rows in front; all singing "poilu" 
songs like regular soldiers. They are such a 
bright-faced crew, we love to go out to the ter- 
race and watch them march to the center court, 
and there line up, be counted more or less — and 
mostly less — correctly, and then be dismissed. 
It makes you laugh to watch their antics as they 
march along. They all smile and salute us now, 
because we have been there so often. They are 
not fresh, — just amusing, — but it also makes 
me a little sad to think what they are training 
for — what is ahead of them. To think that 
these bright-faced boys will, in all probability. 




Rootie in Park at Saint-Germain 




Marje in the Salon at No. 12 Place Denfert-Rochereau 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 139 

turn into some of the sad-faced, mutilated men 
that we see in the hospitals and on the streets. 
Although it sometimes disgusts you to have a 
reforme talk about getting so much for his arm, 
or lack of arm, or leg or eye, or so much more for 
a ball in his neck, — still I can hardly blame 
them. They have served their country when 
their country called them. They have given 
their health, and perhaps their happiness, to the 
country. Why should n't they be paid for it, and 
paid well.'' 

If Rootie were writing this letter, she would 
tell you all the facts of historic interest about 
Saint-Germain, as she is well up in her Baedeker, 
but, as I am not, I will have to let you live in 
ignorance. I vaguely know that Henri IV was 
born in the pavilion here, and that Frangois 
something started to build the chateau, got dis- 
gusted, and built Versailles instead. I can tell 
you, however, that the woods and park here are 
wonderful, that the church bell that rings every 
half-hour is most pleasing, and that there are 
many good restaurants here — one of which we 
are samphng this evening. 

Daddy writes that my letter about the trip 
has not arrived. I guess it must have sunk, — 
is n't it just my luck? Well, I am going to send 
you the pictures we took, and I will write an- 



140 OVER PESISCOPE POND 

other shorter and much less interesting account. 
I will type it and send a carbon copy a week 
after the original, and, if you don't get either, 
I give it up ! I know I have missed some of your 
letters, but I haven't been much over two 
weeks without word, so I certainly must not 
complain. 

Mrs. Willis, a friend of Rootie's, took over a 
few little things to you which I was anxious for 
you to have. She had no room, so I could not 
send several other things I wanted to. This let- 
ter and Eleanor's, a Mr. Whiting, a friend of 
mine, is taking for me. I hope that you will get 
them quicker than usual; — you ought to. I am 
also sending a couple of posters which I thought 
you might like for the bungalow in Marion. Tell 
Josey the little medal I sent her is a regular 
"croix de guerre," and the palm leaf on the rib- 
bon is the highest "citation" one can have. 

If you get a spare minute, read Helen Daven- 
port Gibbons's "Red Rugs of Tarsus." It is 
Mrs. Gibbons's first book. In some ways it is 
more interesting to read, when you do not know 
her. She is, of course. Dr. Herbert Adams Gib- 
bons's wife — the one Betty Colt is secretary to. 
Betty grows more and more attractive. I see 
quite a lot of her. She has tea every day in the 
studios after they stop work at half-past four. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 141 

I blow in pretty often, at about half-past five, 
and Betty, dear soul, brews me a fresh cup of 
tea. There are usually interesting p>eople there. 
Mr. Ayrault drops in often, also Mr. Griflfiths, 
although the latter has broken my great heart 
by announcing that he has got to work so hard 
from now until June, he does not expect to take 
any time off. 

Paris has seemed to me a little more sober 
these last weeks. Ever since America entered 
the war, the enthusiasm has been mostly Ameri- 
can, as far as I can see. The French do not 
seem too hopeful as to the difference it will make. 
Mr. Ayrault says that if Germany can hold out 
through August, or until the next crops, — 
Heaven help the Allies. He says that the Ger- 
man markets are pathetic now; that they are al- 
most empty; that the poor people are actually 
hungry, and not from high prices, but because 
there is n't any food to be bought. He himself 
would have been hungry if he had n't had out- 
side help. The embassy gets eggs and butter and 
some meat from Norway, and also from Switzer- 
land. Mr. A. also said that the discipline is so 
good there, and law and order so much the ordi- 
nary run of things, that the people are not likely 
to revolt. He feels that it is only possible to 
finish the war soon if the United States can 



142 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

build enough ships quickly to supply England, 
which, from all accounts, needs food. There are, 
after all, only a limited number of submarines, 
and each carries only seven or eight torpedoes, I 
believe. They do not get a ship every time that 
they fire, so that, if the United States can build 
enough ships, losing a hundred or more will 
not matter in the long run. Mr. Simons, of the 
American Embassy here, — I mean consulate, 
— tells me that no grain ship has come to Paris 
for fifteen days. That is why the new regulation 
about the cakes and pastries has gone through so 
suddenly. I personally am glad, for it does not 
seem quite right for us to be eating so many fool- 
ish, unnecessary things if flour is scarce. I supn 
pose the shopkeepers will manage to get around 
the law somewhat, but it seems to be a step in 
the right direction. 

Harold Willis writes us the most thrilling ac- 
counts of the doings of the aviators now. He 
sent us some of the cards, printed in German by 
the French Government, which he and his fel- 
low "flyers" drop by the thousands while flying 
over German territory. The cards say that the 
United States has joined the war, and recom- 
mend that the people surrender, as they will be 
well fed and taken care of. They are not very 
dignified, I think, and it is an amusing campaign. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 143 

is it not? But in some ways I would rather have 
them drop cards than bombs on the villages, 
had n't you? 

It will seem queer to get home to Boston 
some day and go into street cars and public 
buildings, and not read on aU sides such notices 
as "Taisez-vous, mefiez-vous, les oreilles enne- 
mies vous ecoutent." Also, "Versez votre or 
pour le Gouvernement." 

Sunday, while we were wandering through the 
woods, we came upon a beautiful big tree, — a 
fairy oak, — all decorated with flags and flowers 
and prayers for victory. It stood in the middle 
of a clear space — benches around it. It was 
touching to see every passer-by take a few flow- 
ers from the bunch they were carrying home and 
lay them devoutly at the foot of the tree, praying 
as they did so. All the flags were weather-beaten 
except the latest addition, the American, which 
looked bright and hopeful in contrast to the 
others. I have never seen a tree like this. Mark 
Twain tells of the one at Arc in his " Life of 
Joan of Arc.'* 

The terrace at night is in some ways more 
beautiful than in the daytime. One can see the 
various searchlights playing in all directions. 
They are really wonderful, — first one and then 
another combs the sky, as it were, looking for 



144 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

hostile aircraft, which, by the bye, never get 
here. 

The work continues to grow. Mrs. Sturgis is 
leaving us this next week, unfortunately, and 
we are all dividing up her duties. Work in the 
Food Department comes to me. I am both glad 
and scared. It will be interesting handing out 
the food and keeping the shop shelves supplied; 
but it requires lots of judgment to talk with 
the women each week, and decide when to stop 
giving them food, and to try to advise them on 
all sorts of questions. However, I am going to 
make a try at it. I think it is pretty nice of Mrs. 
Shurtleff to ask me to do it. 

I ran across a new thing the other day : one of 
the families we were calling on showed us their 
linen, — sheets and underclothes, — which were 
completely yellowed and rotted by the asphyx- 
iating gases! They fell to pieces when touched. 
Another result of this new kind of warfare. 
Sometimes when I see so many children sick and 
diseased through the results of their privations 
while under the German rule, I can't help won- 
dering what the coming generation will be like 
when they grow up. They have had such hide- 
ous childhood. Gas-mask drills at school, lack 
of food, no homes for many of them, and good- 
ness knows no future. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 145 

Rootie and I are thinking of writing to the 
Mayor at Rheims to find out who it is that 
counts the number of shells falling in that town 
daily ! It must be a splendid job, and the person 
who has it is delightfully accurate. Every day 
we see by the paper just how many thousand 
have fallen, except once, when they "fell so 
fast" it was impossible to keep count. How 
awful it is to make fun of it, and yet one has to 
make fun of something about this terrible, ter- 
rible war. 

Betty Potter has given me my wonderful 
package. When I saw the wrapper and Daddy's 
writing, and all the flags and ribbon, I just al- 
most went to pieces, but Miss Whittier being 
with me, I could n't. I tore home, and did n't go 
in to luncheon, but sat and read and read and 
read. Oh, you dear, dear people, how did you 
ever think of doing such a wonderful thing? It 
pleased and thrilled me so that I am still walking 
on air. And the money. Oh, we do need it so, 
particularly just now! I shall write every one 
slowly, as I get time, but will you just tell every- 
body what a wonderful time it gave me, and how 
I can't possibly express myself .'^ All I can say is, 
thank you, thank you all, over and over again. 
It was pretty mighty good of you. 

I had already spent eighteen francs of Dad- 



146 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

dy's money on a hot- water bottle for a poor dear 
old lady refugee, who is dying of cancer. It is 
only a question of time. Her two daughters care 
for her now. We have installed them, and are 
trying to make the end easier for them all. I 
found on one of my visits that they used a 
heated plate to give her relief when she had at- 
tacks in the night. The hot-water bottle is a 
great help, and they are pathetically grateful. 
I shall write you as to just what we do with all 
the money. Oh, you don't know how much it 
means! The little pins have gone like lightning. 
It is so sweet to see the joy that they give the 
children. Incidentally the various "workers" 
have grabbed them also. Rootie is downtown 
this minute buying bright ribbons for the chil- 
dren. It will be too marvelous to have new rib- 
bons to give them. 

Mrs. Shurtleff is driving with Miss Curtis to 
the front, or rather the evacuated district, next 
week. She has an opportunity and is seizing it, 
you can be sure. If we get enough clothes from 
America these next few months and can afford 
it, we are going to establish a regular station, and 
deliver clothes per Ford every fifteen days, and 
I shall do the driving!!! To say that the idea 
thrills me barely describes it. Of course, she is 
taking Miss Curtis this time because she is older 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 147 

and is the head worker, but next time she will 
take me. I can't tell you how I long to hear the 
guns and actually see some of the things that I 
have been hearing about for so long. It will be 
splendid. 

The new jitney, having finally arrived, proves 
much more satisfactory than the old ambulance 
body. I will send you some pictures of it soon. 

We live on our balcony now, for the spring has 
really come. We purchased a chaise-longue and 
cushions at nine dollars, and take turns lying out 
on it. The balcony is so small we can only have 
one. We are just at the height of the tree-tops, 
and now the leaves are out and the little garden 
in front of us in the Square has many Japanese 
apple trees. The air is lovely; with the moon at 
night, it is marvelous. We hate to go to bed at 
all. 

I have got to stop now. Lots and lots of love 
to every one, and thank you again for the pack- 
age of letters. 

Marje. 



XVI 

FROM MARJORIE 

Sunday, May 13, 1917. 

Dearest Family: — 

Here I am out at Saint-Germain again, this 
time quite differently, though. Betty Colt and 
I planned several weeks ago to have a day in the 
country together; we have both been so busy 
that we have n't got round to it until to-day. 
We planned to take the 8.04 train out, but, ow- 
ing to a thunder-shower at five this morning, — 
which caused me to rise and go out on the bal- 
cony to rescue our precious chaise-longue, get- 
ting soaked in the process, — and its looking so 
dismal and so like permanent rain, I went back 
to bed and slept xmtil 8.15! So we did not take 
the 8.04, but the 10.04. It rained a little on the 
way out, but now, after a delicious and filling 
dinner, we are sitting in the garden, writing at 
one of those little green iron tables. For a nation 
that has such good taste in most things, I think 
it remarkable the lack of taste the French have 
in garden furniture! Betty having never been 
out here before, the first thing we did was to 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 149 

go out to the Terrace. On the way, we passed 
a Ford standing by the roadside, which had a 
familiar air. The number also seemed like ours, 
— so I pulled out my license card (which I keep 
with me always, — I am so afraid of ever missing 
an opportunity to drive through not having pa- 
pers), and found that it was our "other car," — 
in other words, the car Miss Curtis hires from 
Mrs. Gage and runs for the Association and for 
herself over Sundays. You see, your license over 
here is a complicated affair, and has, among 
other things, the numbers of the car or cars you 
drive. I am saving, by the bye, all the extra pa- 
pers that I have had to possess since I left home. 
It will be fun going over them together when 
I get back. Being clever children, we decided 
that Miss Curtis must be near by, — if her car 
was here, — so we rambled around and found 
her, and also Mr. and Mrs. Bowditch and Mrs. 
Sturgis and Miss Sturgis, all lunching at the 
^ranQoisF^ We went in and said "How do you 
do?" to them, warned them how expensive the 
place is, and, after leaving a few chocolates, we 
went on to the Bois. We get a marvelous variety 
of chocolates out here — pure chocolate all the 
way through, called disque d'or, on account 
of a little daub or touch of real gold on each 
one. Somewhat the same idea as that eau de 



150 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

vie with beaten gold in it that we used to have 
sometimes. 

I intend to stand Betty up this afternoon and 
get some good pictures of her to send you. She 
is such a dear. I hate to think of her leaving 
Paris in three weeks, but Dr. Gibbons goes to 
Houlgate for the summer, and, strange as it may 
seem, he takes his secretary "mit" him! One 
comfort is that she is going to Houlgate, which 
is on the ocean, and she has already asked me to 
spend a week-end with her. This means that I 
will get a swim — hurrah ! My prospects of hav- 
ing a vacation this summer seem to diminish as 
the time goes on. Mrs. Shurtleff and Mrs. New- 
som are going to take two months off, but with 
Mrs. Sturgis gone (she sails this Saturday with 
her mother and father), I guess that the workers 
who remain will simply take week-ends off, or 
perhaps a week. We are now planning a won- 
derful week-end party, starting for Houlgate 
early some Saturday morning — Rootie, Eliz- 
abeth Baldwin, Mr. GriflSlths, Bryant, Simmons, 
Mayo, and myself — in an auto, arriving in the 
afternoon, and getting a swim, some tennis, 
some food, a peek at Deauville probably, playing 
with Betty, and all coming back either Sunday 
afternoon or Monday morning. Does n't that 
sound pretty nice? I have n't the slightest idea 




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OVER PERISCOPE POND 151 

that we will ever really do this — but we plan it 
at our Friday night parties every week now. K we 
do go, Heaven knows what I expect to wear. 

I am wondering just what I planned in my 
mind to wear this spring, when I left home. My 
faithful purple suit continues. It is, if possible, 
more faded than ever. Rootie has offered me 
every conceivable kind of a bribe to have it 
cleansed, and I think I may! I have bought a 
hat, round and black with feathers curling round 
the edge, which, with my black silk dress (which 
has turned from my only evening dress into my 
street dress), is my costume for teas! I have one 
new waist; otherwise I have nothing. To-mor- 
row being my day off, I plan to shop. I must get 
some thinner stockings, these woolen ones are 
killing me by inches. You just try cranking a 
Ford car for hours at a time in woolen stock- 
ings ! I have got to get up my courage and buy 
some white skirts, although I hate to — waists 
are bad enough. It is a bit disconcerting to be 
told that I wear a 46! Why, why, don't we all 
use the same system of measuring clothes, coal, 
essence, and lots of things? It would save so 
much trouble. 

Rootie and I have at last realized our ambi- 
tion, and have persuaded the lady who was in 
the big room next door to us to change with 



152 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

Rootie — thereby giving us a salon. We use my 
room for a sleeping-room, and the big one for a 
regular salon. With Rootie's piano and my sofa 
and chairs, it is very nice-looking, and will be 
such a joy. We have not been able to ask the 
crowd to come back to our house after Friday 
night supper, for instance. Now we are going 
to play "pounce'* and bridge and all sorts of 
things in our salon. The extra room divided, 
between us costs me only one franc more, — 
namely, eleven francs instead of ten francs, — 
and I think that it is well worth while. Also 
Mrs. Shurtleff strongly recommended our doing 
it. Last night I was sitting at the table writing, 
— Rootie on the other side sewing, — • and sud- 
denly, for no reason whatsoever, my chair sim- 
ply collapsed under me! I never had such a 
funny sensation. As Rootie said, one minute I 
was there and the next I was n't — I was under 
the table! I left so early this morning that I did 

not see Mme. H , so Rootie has the fun of 

telling her about it! However, she will not mind, 
I am sure. She is very, very good to us. She 
keeps her table up very well, and that, with the 
good service and clean rooms, is pretty fine, I 
can tell you. For instance, we had creamed po- 
tatoes and cauliflower in a baking dish for the 
first course yesterday noon, followed by cold 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 153 

asparagus with French dressing (second course), 
cold meat and noodles, and ended with the usual 
cream cheese and confiture. 

Every time I have asparagus I can't help 
thinking of the wonderful green "asperge" you 
people are having. It is nearly all white over 
here, and although very nice, not nearly as good 
as ours from Marion — naturally. 

Rumors of Russia making a separate peace are 
frequent here just now. Dr. Gibbons and many 
others feel that she is not to be reckoned with 
one way or the other any more. They blame the 
failure of the spring offensive partially on Rus- 
sia's lack of support. The submarines are evi- 
dently not getting everything. We have received 
nine cases lately — the first in a long time. Mr. 
Barbour at the American Clearing House says 
that eleven hundred or more arrived in Paris 
this week. We are glad, for we need everything 
we can get just now. The typewriter paper, I 
am very much afraid, has not come through; 
still there is always hope. (Neither lot has 
arrived.) 

Rheims seems to be suffering particularly just 
now. Every day a list of the houses ruined by 
shells or fire is posted downtown, and the poor 
refugees go and stand and read whether "theirs" 
is gone yet. It seems to be only a question of 



154 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

time before it will be a completely destroyed city. 
All the soldiers and officers say that Verdun was 
bloody, but this last month's defensive is twice 
as severe. Both sides are evidently losing 
frightfully. In a great many ways I am glad 
that I am in Paris, and not London. I believe 
that we will be able to outlast the English in 
many ways — food and soldiers. Coal seems to 
be the greatest lack just now, and yet as a whole 
there seems to be enough. The new meat regu- 
lation amounts to very little. Few poor people 
ever ate meat at night, and those who want to 
simply buy enough in the morning. 

I was at the Ritz the other day seeing Roxy 
Bowen that was, — now Mrs. W. Stephen Van 
Rensselaer, — and on her way to Rome with the 
Honorable Stephen. They came via the Spanish 
line, and I gathered that the voyage left much 
to be desired. Among the tales she told (most 
of which needed a little salt, I imagine), was 
one of an egg dropped in the corridor and not 
cleaned up during the whole trip! She was 
the only American aboard. Personally I think 
I should prefer the submarines and the French 
line. I started to say that everything seemed 
very normal at the Ritz, only we could not have 
cake with our tea, it being Tuesday. Of course, 
it was just my usual luck to be asked to tea at 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 155 

the Ritz on a cakeless day! I have been told 
several times that more chocolates have been 
sold this last year than any time during the last 
ten years — think of it ! Of course, a tremendous 
amount is sent to the front. It is a favorite 
thing to send, but even with that taken into 
consideration, it seems odd, does n't it? 

Speaking of sending to the front, I have taken 
on a Serbian soldier as a partial filleul, on the 
condition that I don't have to write him. I send 
him monthly packages, but anonymously, — as 
Rootie said, "Regular Daddy-Long-Legs stuff"! 
I have seen so many foolish — and sometimes 
worse than that — letters from these filleuls to 
their marraines that I have been scared off. 
But I could n't bear to have him starve to 
death. His name not only is not Hippolyte, 
but is utterly unpronounceable — sneeze twice, 
cough, and end with "sky," and you are as near 
it as I ever have been ! 

Paris, Thursday. 

What very deceptive things maps are, any- 
way. Do you remember the day we looked up 
Denfert-Rochereau on the map? We all hunted 
for it, and finally located it, surrounded with 
stations, morgue, catacombs, orphan asylums, 
and goodness knows what else. I wonder if you 



156 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

have the same pictui-e that I had of it before I 
arrived? As a matter of fact, I only discovered 
the station a few weeks ago — so you can see 
how well it is hidden. The other cheering insti- 
tutions do not exist, as far as I can see, and I 
don't care to look them up. What does exist is 
a large square, with a big statue of the Lion 
of Belfort in the middle. He is our landmark, as 
it were, when we are coming home. From any 
direction, there he stands, or rather lies, and 
that means "home" in a certain sense to us. 
There is a perfectly lovely garden in front of our 
house, and another beside us — between our 
block and Mrs. Shurtleff's. Both gardens have 
Japanese apple trees or cherry trees, and at 
night, when we lie on our balcony, the scent is 
perfectly lovely. As we are only two flights up, 
we are just at the height of the tree-tops, so it 
is deliciously cool, and, except for the children in 
the park, one can hardly believe one is in the 
city. Having these two parks and a square be- 
yond, you can imagine what very good air we 
get, and that makes such a difference here. Be- 
sides the aesthetic qualities, this house is located 
at the end of a taxi-stand, which we can see by 
standing on a chair on the balcony. As taxis are 
few and far between here these days, it is pretty 
cute for us to have our own stand! 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 157 

You may notice that I am following your ex- 
cellent advice and am numbering this letter No. 
one. Meant to begin last week, but forgot, so 
here goes. Heaven help me if I miss out and for- 
get what was the last number I used ! I am try- 
ing to get time to re-write the Bordeaux trip. 
My bad words are all worn out from thinking of 
that beautiful letter going to the fishes. I am so 
very glad that you called my attention to the 
lack of periods and capitals in my letters. I in- 
tend to go over this cahier very carefully! It 
pretty near scares me to death when I think of 
your showing my notes to any one, for they are 
usually written hurriedly, and I simply say what 
I think and feel without any regard to phrases or 
literary value; not that I could do anything in 
that line if I wanted to. Still, it does please me 
to feel that I have been able to tell you enough, 
and in such a way that it has interested you. 
After all, it is simply because everything is so 
vital here, and when one has something to say, 
it is usually easy to say it. 

Almost every day now, big, new, beautiful, 
creamy-colored dirigibles sail over the city. 
They are so marvelous-looking, with the sun on 
them. I do not quite know what they are for, 
but they are lovely to look at. 

Having been scared into believing that the 



158 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

pastry-shops are really closing, Rootie and I 
bought lots of crackers, only to find them all 
flourishing to-day, and with no immediate pros- 
pects of closing! That is the way things go here. 
Lots of talk about shortage of this and that, and 
yet we all have everything. 

The last few days a very large number of sol- 
diers — a remarkable number in fact — have 
come home for "permission" — I cannot imag- 
ine why. An oldest son — one of three at the 
front — came home this morning while we were 
making a call. I hated to stay on and ask ques- 
tions, when I knew how much the woman 
wanted to talk with her boy. When he came in, 
both the mother and father stopped talking, and 
simply stared at him. Then she said, "Well, I 
am glad to see you alive," and kissed him on 
each cheek. The man said nothing, but pounded 
him on the back. Then the woman turned to us 
and explained that he was the eldest, and asked 
him if he had news of his brother, wounded in 
a hospital near Arras. The simplicity of their 
greeting, the wonderful control of the woman, 
who is having a very hard time, — her husband 
is dying of T.B.; she has three sons at the front; 
her daughter of thirty is insane, the result of the 
bombardment; and she herself is not strong. I 
think that it is interesting to see how people 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 159 

usually say commonplace things when they are 
greatly stirred. 

Rootie has finished writing, and is now wait- 
ing for me to come in and play "halma." Did 
you ever? We have bought a board, and I ex- 
pect to be licked all to pieces, but here goes. 
Your very loving daughter, 

Marje. 

Friday, a.m. 

Am writing this while waiting in the car for 
Mrs. Shurtleff, who is in the American Clear- 
ing House, looking up lost cases — your paper 
among others. I feel pretty important lined up 
with all the military cars, and I backed into 
the place 'perfectly ^ which is great, for soldiers 
look down on girl drivers. Am hoping one of 
them will crank for me! Letters from you and 
Dad arrived for breakfast, all about seeing the 
Roots. Thanks so much for them. 

M. 



XVII 

FROM ESTHER 

Paris, Monday, May 28, 1917. 

Dearest Mother: — 

I am so bursting full of the good time that we 
have had during the past two days that I am 
going to dash a line off to you — an inconse- 
quential line — even when I know that what 
you want is a letter full of statistics and answers 
to questions. (Funny thing, I always think that 
I am the one who is wonderful about answer- 
ing everything that you ask!) I will be good 
to-morrow. 

To-night, I am tired and dusty, but miles and 
miles of white French roads bordered by forests, 
and meadows, and houses, and towns, and chil- 
dren, and horses, and castles, and flags, are go- 
ing round in my head. 

" There ne'er were such thousands of leaves on a tree. 
Or of people in church or the park. . . ." 

To-day is a holiday, being the day after 
Pentecost (Whit-Monday in England), and 
Marje and I decided to go off for two days 
somewhere in the country. Miss Curtis had 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 161 

planned to move a family to-day in the Associa- 
tion car, — forgetting that Mrs. ShurtleflF had 
promised us that we could go out in it, — so she 
handed us over her Ford touring-car, which was 
perfectly wonderful for us. 

Yesterday morning we started off in dazzling 
sunshine with a clear blue sky overhead. We 
took the road to Fontainebleau, which is long 
and straight and bordered all the way — fifty 
kilometres — with great evergreen trees. We 
took our hats off and talked, and laughed, and 
sang, and whistled, and watched the country- 
side go flying by; the trees and fields were the 
most luscious green, and everywhere were huge 
patches of mustard, growing dense and brilliant 
yellow. Little towns, red-roofed, with a single 
church spire and a few pointed haystacks, would 
huddle to themselves far off on the horizon, and 
always we kept tearing along between the trees, 
leaving Paris and carking care behind. 

We stopped for luncheon under a particularly 
splendid tree and laid out our store on the thick 
grass. Sardines, fresh bread, cheese, preserved 
plums, strawberries, olives stuffed with an- 
chovies, Cailler's chocolate and orangeade. I 
never had anything taste so good, and no salt 
air any nearer than Havre to account for it. 
You can't imagine what fun we had. Finally 



162 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

when we were replete, we lay down and looked 
up into the leaves and listened to the most 
heavenly birds. 

We reached Fontainebleau at about two. 
The "New York Herald" had said something 
about its being American day at F. that Sunday, 
but we were n't prepared for such an exhibition 
of American flags as greeted us on all the houses 
and shops, and on the palais itself. We knew, 
however, that all this demonstration meant that 
the hotels were full, so we looked to getting a 
room for the night before seeing anything. Not 
a thing to be had. Thank fortune we were in a 
car and could go on to the next town. 

There was a special invitation for all Ameri- 
cans to visit the Fontainebleau golf course, so 
we made tracks out in that direction, as the 
palais and grounds were overrun with permis- 
sionnaires and the usual holiday crowds. 

Arrived at the gates of the golf club we were 
ashamed at first to go in. We were tired and 
dusty and blown to pieces, and the paths and 
hedges looked too neat and dressy for words. 
But we did hop out and walk up to a gentle- 
looking gray-bearded Frenchman with a black 
straw hat, and asked if we could go in. He said 
he was enchante to have Americans come to the 
club, and took us himself up to the first tee. I 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 163 

looked wistfully at the little piles of sand and 
thought of the many hours spent under an 
electric light between four walls of fish-net 
on Seventy-second Street, and longed for my 
driver. 

We wandered up to some fir trees in the rough 
about halfway to the first green and flopped 
down on the ground. We were both pretty tired 
and did n't know where we could spend the 
night, or what, in fact, the next move would be. 
Marje said that she could n't go another step 
until she had a nap, and as we did n't know when 
we should see a bed, we crawled under the low 
branches of the fir tree, spread our coats over us, 
and went to sleep. 

It was twenty minutes of four when we woke 
up. We jumped out of the bushes and so startled 
a man who was driving off that he sliced his shot 
and the ball went whizzing between our heads. 
It was surprising to see men caddies in battered 
French uniforms — probably reformes for tuber- 
culosis — and also young husky girl caddies 
toting aroimd armfuls of clubs. These were the 
only reminders of war, for on the veranda were 
Americans and French people in white tennis 
shoes and blazers playing bridge. You can't 
imagine the thrill of seeing good-looking peo- 
ple wearing clothes and jewelry, sitting around 



164 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

and calling out "No trumps" — after what this 
winter has been in Paris. 

My, but we felt good after our nap! We met 
our friend with the black hat and he took us 
inside the clubhouse. He showed us most espe- 
cially the mural decorations — scenes in Fon- 
tainebleau — which were from his brush. One 
of the silver loving-cups in the glass case had 
"Compliments of Charles Crocker" on it, and 
Marje discovered that he is a relation of hers in 
Fitchburg. 

We became very chummy with graybeard, 
and I mentioned in passing that we could n't 
find a place to stay. He gave us his card — M. 
Paul Tavernier — and said that he knew an old 
couple who had a lovely house which they rented 
furnished for the summer, beginning July 1st. 
Just now they rented rooms overnight and 
would serve the petit dejeuner. It was nice of 
him to recommend us, not knowing us at all, but 
he must have known we were nice, we looked so 
innocent and imattractive. It seems funny that 
over here when I'm traveling I spend my time 
trying to look utterly unattractive and I meet 
with dazzling success; but such a difference as it 
makes when choosing hats! 
' I have had a gnawing eagerness to see Moret. 
I believe it's where the Barnards used to live; 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 165 

and Professor Churchill, head of the art depart- 
ment in Northampton, knew George Gray Bar- 
nard there, and used to mention the town and 
its environs in his lectures. The road leads 
through the forest, and I can imagine nothing 
lovelier than the acres of velvet green grass and 
giant green trees. You feel so tiny in between. 

We hurried back to Fontainebleau and found 
25 rue de I'Arbre Sec to be a plain-looking 
house on a narrow, cobbled side street. Our ring 
was answered by a nice-looking little woman, 
who became cordial when we mentioned M. 
Ta vernier's name. She led us through the house, 
which was dark and finely furnished, and up- 
stairs to a bedroom done in pink, with white 
furniture. The windows looked out on a court 
and a heavenly garden — undreamed of from 
the street. 

Mme. Moreau, our hostess, — I call her host- 
ess for she seemed just like it, — made up the 
bed in fresh linen, hemstitched and mono- 
grammed, put fresh towels in our private ad- 
joining bathroom, and puttered around us ador- 
ably. She said that she did n't serve any meals 
except breakfast, but would we like eggs with 
our coffee? We jumped for joy. I have n't had 
an egg for breakfast since I was in Pau. 

We sauntered out for dinner at 7.30. We went 



166 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

to the France et Angleterre, the chic-est hotel 
there, and ate on the Terrace with all the swells. 
A few of the very few members of Paris haute 
societe that I know were there, and bowed quite 
informally over their pearls. I was becomingly 
gowned in my old brown felt hat, the coat of my 
winter suit, the little blue serge model, and a 
pair of men's shoes that I bought from the Ves- 
tiaire. No matter. We watched the officers and 
their lady friends and the Rolls Royces and Re- 
naults and negotiated our asparagus with perfect 
nonchalance. 

To bed in that wonderful room. The armoire 
was all lined with satin, and there was a plain 
gray velvet carpet, and canework let into the 
head and foot of the bed, and the bed was set in 
an alcove with a canopy. Oh, I tell you it was 
great; twelve francs, for the two of us. 

And when we woke there were the eggs — and 
pain grille. It was about the time when certain 
people that I know are usually on the way over 
to the Vestiaire, and we hugged ourselves and 
each other, I can teU you, to think that we were 
off in Fontainebleau in an elegant boudoir with 
trees whispering outside the window and boiled 
eggs before us. 

We had luncheon in the forest. We decided to 
leave the palais and grounds until another day 



0\^R PERISCOPE POND 167 

when there would n't be such a crowd and the 
sun would not be so hot. 

Moret is the cutest place ever. A cobbled 
main street, with little stores and tiny streets 
leading off of it, and old stone towers over the 
city gates. It is on the Loire, and we crossed 
the bridge and sat down in the long grass at 
the water's edge and looked back at the town 
through the trees; cunning little houses with 
window-boxes leaning out over the river, chil- 
dren and ducks playing in the water; and top- 
ping the town, the tower of the lovely old 
twelfth-century church. 

We went up to the church, and really it is the 
most romantic, irregular, moth-eaten, ancient of 
days that you can imagine. The inside is lovely 
in outline and general construction, but here 
and there it has been whitewashed and generally 
renovated in a deplorable way. Some one evi- 
dently died — as Marje remarked — and left 
to the church three brilliant cut-glass chande- 
liers, which give the most bizarre effect, hanging 
in the main aisle. We wandered around all alone 
— not a person in the place, not even a priest or 
choir-boy was to be seen. 

We started home and went to Barbizon for 
tea. That is another cute place. Lovely villas, 
and tablets outside saying what artist lived 



168 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

there. There are several fine hotels. One was 
really very snappy, and we had tea there out- 
doors under a yellow-and-white striped awning. 
The country all about is lovely and just shrieks 
Millet. If it had n't turned cold suddenly I 
should have wanted to get out and sketch and 
let Marje work on the car awhile. She always 
can find something to do, and if there's nothing 
in sight for me to draw, I always can draw her 
doing it. 

I have just been playing over the easier of 
the Symphonic Etudes — if there are such — and 
here I am writing away and it 's bedtime. Think 
of how wonderful it was to have that car, and 
find that lovely place to stay, and to have each 
other to go with, and then to come home to our 
salon and my darling piano! 

I am waiting impatiently for the letter telling 
me what I'm to do in Switzerland. I am afraid 
you are quite unnecessarily worried about me. 
There was a time when I was pretty ill and tired, 
but I am much better now. Mrs. Shurtlejff has 
given both Marje and me every other Monday 
off. I have n't written to you yet about our 
salon, but it makes all the difference in the world 
to our health and happiness. 

Good-bye for now. I will write you a sensible 
letter soon, full of information and untouched 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 169 

by frivolity. I understand that one boat has 
skipped. I know I did n't get any mail. Heaven 
know when you'll get this. 
Much love, Mother dear, from 

Esther. 



XVIII 

FROM MARJORIE 

June 20, 1917. 

Dearest Family: — 

Having written you a short bum letter last 
week, I am now going to try to make it up to you 
this week. I certainly have enough material, 
and if this cahier is not interesting, it is because 
I am writing very hurriedly, and not on account 
of lack of things to tell you. 

Ever since I arrived here in Paris, I have 
longed more or less, and mostly more, to get up 
to the "front," and to see what this war has done 
to the country and villages, and what modern 
warfare is like, anyway. I have hoped that I 
might get an opportunity some time, but have 
only hoped. It never occurred to me that J, 
Marjorie Crocker, would ever really get there, 
but I have! I warn you right now that this trip 
has changed my point of view in several ways, 
and I only hope that I shall be able to tell you 
what I saw in such a way that you will feel as I 
felt. (I am, by the bye, making a carbon copy of 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 171 

this letter, for I do not intend to have another 
"Bordeaux trip" letter experience.) 

Mrs. Gage wrote to Miss Curtis some time 
ago, saying that she wanted to borrow her car 
for a few days' trip to the front, and would Miss 
C. be willing to drive it for her? You can imag- 
ine that Miss Curtis was willing. I happened to 
be there when she was reading the letter, and re- 
marked at once that, if anything happened, not 
to forget that I could always go as a chauffeur 
too! Then I thought no more about it, until last 
Friday, the 8th, when Rootie blew in to lunch- 
eon, all agog about some Mrs. W who 

wanted Miss Curtis to drive her to the front the 
next day, and Miss C. was in the country for a 
few days' rest. As this sounded like a chance to 
me, I got busy, and with Rootie's help chased 
up the "chance" as quick as we could! Rootie, 
knowing how I felt, had suggested me in the 
morning as a substitute for Miss Curtis, but 
nothing very definite had been arranged. We 
tore around from Dr. Shurtleff's to the Vesti- 

aire, and there by pure luck met Mrs. W 

and a Miss Upjohn, who was with her. After 
some discussions between Mrs. Shurtleff, Mrs. 
W. and M. X. C, as to whether I ought to try to 
go in Miss Curtis's place, for there was every 
possibility of her returning that night, Mrs. 



172 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

W said that I was there on the scene, and 

she would like to try to take me in place of Miss 
Curtis, and we must go at once to get the name 
changed on the papers, — so we hopped into 
the Association car and beat it for the Agence de 
la Presse, which is the place to get papers to go 
to the front. I was at this stage of the game as 

ignorant as you are as to who Mrs. W was, 

and why she was going to the front, and what 
the whole game was. The only thing I could 
think of was that I was really going to the front. 
We got the papers changed easily, and I came 
back to the house all excitement, ready to start 
at six in the morning. You can imagine how I 
felt, for it did seem as if I was cutting Miss Cur- 
tis out of her opportunity. We stopped at Miss 
C.'s house to discuss things with her, and found 
to our delight a telegram saying that she had 
decided to stay over one day more, so I felt 
much better. Incidentally I knew that she and 
Mrs. ShurtlefiP were going up to the front later 
on, and that they were to stay for a week or 
more. After going to Mrs. Shurtleff's and talk- 
ing it over with her, we came back here and found 
a note saying the start was postponed until 
three in the afternoon. This I was glad of, for it 
gave me time to get ready, and also to attend 
the usual Saturday morning conference. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 173 

Rootie and I lunched at the Bon Marche, in 
celebration of the event, although I felt rottenly 
about going and not being able to take her 
along too. I thought that the ladies seemed a 
little vague, so I took some food with me, as I 
can keep going indefinitely if I am fed, as you 
know. I went to the Hotel Regina, as directed, 
at the hour set, and there met the rest of the 
mob. The party was to go in two cars, one a 
high-powered landaulet, French make, and our 

Ford. Mrs. W was the head of our party. 

She is about to found a work over here, has got 
an office, and, when she gets money and a com- 
mittee, is going to have a "large work" for the 
Pays Envahis, so she says. She is English, and 
has written at times, and her excuse for going 
on the trip was to write up the country, send it 
to America, and raise money there for her work 
which is about to be. Miss U. is a friend. Mrs. 
W. was the next. I made the fourth, and chauf- 
feur of the party. The other car contained Mr. 
and Mrs. Will Irwin, of "Saturday Evening 
Post" fame, Mrs. Norman Hapgood, and Mme. 
Perrin, the official guide, and her sister. Mile. 
Bazin (they are daughters of one Leon Bazin, a 
well-known French author), and a chauffeur 
who looked at me in scorn! We started at about 
half-past three, our orders being to follow as 



174 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

closely as possible to the other car, and, if we 
lost them, to turn up at Compiegne, seventy-five 
kilometres distant, for dinner and to spend the 
night. 

I am perfectly sure that the chauffeur never 
drove so fast in all his life before; he just whizzed 
out of Paris with us panting at his rear! Once 
out of the city, I balked and slowed down to a 
comfortable gait, which gave me a chance to 

listen to Mrs. W 's flow of words in my ear, 

and enjoy the country. I could hardly believe at 
this stage of the game that I was really on my 
way to the front. We had two punctures, but, 
as I was carrying two extra rims, they did not 
bother much. Of course, the ladies thought I 
was "so clever" to be able to change a tire! I 
wonder what they expected — that I would stay 
by the side of the road all night with a punc- 
ture? We arrived at Compiegne at about 6.30, 
and found an excellent hotel. The arrangement 
of rooms amused me a little, for I found that 
they had reserved two chauffeurs' rooms! Al- 
though the other one is a most superior being, 
having driven Edward VII during his stay in 
Paris, still I thought I preferred the hotel to the 
garage to sleep in, and so made my own arrange- 
ments! King Edward, as we called him, was 
very nice, and mended my two punctures for 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 175 

me, after taking me to the military field to get 
my gas for my trip. For once in my life, I had 
all the gas I wanted offered me, and did not have 
to pay for it! I can tell you, I took all that she 
would hold, and then fiJled five empty bidons 
which I had, fortunately, brought with me. We 
had a delightful dinner, and I for one turned in 
early, for I imagined that the next day would 
be a tiring one. The next morning was cloudy, 
but not rainy, and we started off at nine o'clock 
for Noyon, which is the headquarters for such 
trips as ours. We went via Bailly, where we saw 
our first trenches. Also No Man's Land, of 
Mary Roberts Rinehart fame: the first really 
famous battlefield. We stopped and walked 
through long communication trenches, now par- 
tially filled up, all muddy and full of cobwebs 
and dead rats. It seemed strange to think that 
only last March there was fighting in those 
trenches, and now they are cob webbed and fall- 
ing to pieces. The officers' dug-outs along the 
side of the roads, all of which have been first in 
French hands, then German, and now French, 
were particularly interesting. Each one was 
different; some had regular windows with pa- 
thetic attempts at curtains, some were quite 
palatial, others were filled with water, and all 
wore a deserted and much-fought-over air. 



176 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

The miles and miles of barbed-wire entangle- 
ments, with corresponding miles of twisty-turny 
trenches, screens of boughs, wire with grass tied 
on it, and burlap curtains, showed us quite dis- 
tinctly where the original French lines were and 
the Boche. The land in between is now quite 
dry, and does not look like a lake, but like 
an ordinary field, criss-crossed with low barbed- 
wire entanglements. Here and there a grave, 
mostly French. We walked along the road- 
way, and stopped to look at a ruined farm; the 
buildings of cement were all shattered, except 
the cellar of the main house, which had a painted 
sign over the door, "Notre Dame des For^ts," 
and then the hours of services. The interior had 
been whitewashed, and a rude altar built at the 
farther end. There were bullets, many of them, 
lying in front of the door. While we were looking 
around, an old man drove up with his wife in a 
rickety shay. He owned the place, and was com- 
ing for the first time to see what was left. I 
hated to have him get out and look. I knew his 
heart was breaking, and he was too old and al- 
ready broken to ever be able to see it rebuilt. 
He was talkative, and took me out behind the 
barns to see his pride and joy: what once was a 
McCormick reaping machine, only just paid for 
at the outbreak of the war, — fifteen hundred 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 177 

francs, — now a mass of twisted, rusted iron 
and steel, hopelessly wrecked. He did not say 
much, only told what it cost, said it was his only 
new machine, and then walked away. I went 
back to the car. What in the world could I say? 
The others had by this time walked on farther, 
and I had to hurry to catch them. We inspected 
more dug-outs, and then went on to Noyon. 

Just before entering this town, we saw our 
first Boche prisoners. I don't know what a Ger- 
man soldier looks like ordinarily, but when shorn 
of his arms, buttons (taken as souvenirs), wear- 
ing a little gray cap with a red stripe around it 
on the top of his shorn head, he presents an 
amusing and pathetic appearance. I don't know 
what it is that is so very bedraggled about 
them, but they look so absurdly harmless, al- 
most like the inhabitants of the Forest Hills 
insane asylum, when one sees them walking 
about the lawn or sitting under the trees on 
the way to Marion. They looked well fed and 
young. They were working, not very hard, but 
rather stolidly, I thought. 

Noyon seemed to be fairly well preserved, and 
very full of military life. We went to Headquar- 
ters, and procured that most necessary of things 
for a trip to the front — a French capitaine. 
He was very nice-looking and agreeable, and, as 



178 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

we discovered later on, very efficient. He let us 
look around the town a bit; in fact, I went into 
the cathedral for a minute, but as a service was 
going on, did not get much idea of what it was 
like. One thing caught my eye in the courtyard 
of the priest's house next door — a Hfe-sized 
statue of some saint carrying a lamb. A shell 
had bitten a great piece out of the back of the 
figure, but he still held the lamb, unhiu't. 

From Noyon we were escorted south to a 
small town called Blerancourt, where the poilus 
come home for vacation, and a gayer place I 
never was in. Music, songs, soldiers dressed up 
playing tag, fencing, huge signs telling of a spree 
to come off that night in the big room at the 
canteen run by the English. We entered this 
building, and found three charming English wo- 
men who are living there, and running a rest 
and writing-room and a canteen for the poilus. 
They serve about seven hundred a night, they 
said. They invited us to eat our luncheon in 
their garden, which we were most willing to do. 
I tried to get some pictures of it, but I doubt if 
any of mine will come out. It was pretty cloudy 
for photos. 

I managed to get a chance to talk with one of 
these women, and she was so interesting. They 
are certainly doing a good thing, staying there. 




Will Irwin in the Garden at Blerancourt 




Mrs. Williams (back), Miss Dobson, and Mrs. Wethey in the Garden at 
Blerancourt 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 179 

They live in the most simple way, sleeping out- 
doors in the garden, wearing khaki shirts and 
skirts. They are the only women in the town. 
Their life is gay in some ways. A French poilu 
on his four days' leave is more of a kid than any- 
thing I ever laid eyes on. One woman told me she 
did not know when they ever rested, for they kept 
up the noise and fun all day and all night too. 
After a very nice luncheon, which we had 
brought with us, for one cannot get food in the 
military zone, we went on. We were aiming for 
Chauny, or, at least, we all hoped that we were, 
for Mr. Irwin told us that was as near the front 
as any women would be allowed to get. The 
country by this time was entirely ruined and 
very military-looking, — that is to say, all criss- 
crossed with trenches, entanglements, and dug- 
outs. We kept meeting high-powered cars go- 
ing at a frightful speed, — mostly closed ones, — 
with officers in them. I can tell you that driving 
was no fun. I had to keep close to the other car 
which went at about thirty miles an hour, mak- 
ing a frightful amount of dust, but I did not dare 
slow down or lose sight of them, for I hate to 
think what would happen to a party of women 
found in the zone des armees, traveling about 
without the proper escort. I do not believe that 
any papers would be of the slightest use. As a 



180 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

matter of fact, the papers were all made out 
wrong, and the one we did possess said that our 
party consisted of Mrs. Hapgood (in the other 
car), Mr. Williams (ditto), and Miss Upjohn 
and Mr. Pelletier, the chauffeur. How I was to 
pose as a man chauffeur I do not know. 

We went along smoothly until we began meet- 
ing a great number of trucks, gun-carriages, 
and soldiers. This made me think that we must 
be near the actual fighting, and I was crazy to 
stop for a minute and listen for the guns, but I 
did not dare to. Then we met a very nice-look- 
ing chasseur on a bicycle, who held on to the side 
of the car and gave us all the information we 
wanted. First place, he told us that we were off 
the regular road for Chauny, and that we were 
almost at Pierrefond de Soucy, which town was 
jour hilometres from the actual front! This 
thrilled us, as you may imagine. Then we were 
held up by a guard, who talked at great length 
with the first car, and after finally letting them 
go on, stopped us and said that we could not 
go for five minutes, that we must keep out of 
sight of the first car, never stop under any con- 
ditions until we passed the next sentinel, and 
that he had no business to let us go on this road 
at all, as the Germans could see us on an ordi- 
nary day, but it being foggy he would let us by! 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 181 

For the first time I really felt as if there were 
some danger. As a matter of fact, it was practi- 
cally nil, for the Germans are very methodical in 
their way of fighting, and do not fire on certain 
roads except at certain times. However, our 
chassem* friend told us that the woods we could 
see beyond the field on the right were French, 
but that the Germans were on the hill beyond. 
That made them seem pretty near. We just 
scurried through that town and the next. The 
road was very carefully screened on one side, 
with burlap and trees and wire covered with 
grass. There were some guns ready for action at 
the comers of the roads, and many signs saying 
that autos should not use this road except after 
dark. The woods were full of soldiers, who 
waved and shouted at us. I found that they all 
saluted our car, as they took it for granted that 
we must have an officer with us like the front 
car, so I began saluting back, and it seemed to 
please them terribly. By the end of the last day, 
I got so that I could give a very military salute 
without any trouble, which I consider quite a 
feat, for the driving was hard, — the speed and 
the bad roads combined with the very constant 
and real danger of the officers' cars which we 
met, and which, of course, would simply run 
through you if you did not give way. 



182 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

The beautiful great shade trees which line 
either side of the roads have all been cut down 
by the Germans before their retreat. Also the 
fruit trees. In some places they did not evi- 
dently have the time to really cut down the 
trees, so they just ringed them — cut deep cir- 
cles in them so that they will die. I noticed that 
in some of the villages the farmers had evidently 
tried to save these few remaining ones, and have 
bandaged them up. Mother probably knows 
whether there is any hope for them to pull 
through. The effect of miles and miles of flat 
roads with simply the stumps of what were once 
beautiful trees is ghastly, and I think of all the 
things that the Germans have done, perhaps 
this is the worst, and the thing which the people 
of that district will never forgive. They say it 
takes a tree thirty years to reaUy bear, and the 
generation now living will never see their or- 
chards bearing again. 

In some places the Boches cut the trees so 
that they split when they fell (always across the 
roads, of course), and now there remain nothing 
but rows of great white, livid stumps which 
shine in the sunlight, and look so very ghastly, 
and make one realize even more that this mod- 
ern warfare is not a sport. I took several pictures 
of the trees, but I do not imagine that I got the 



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OVER PERISCOPE POND 183 

effect. It is, without doubt, one of the most im- 
pressive and oppressive things that one sees; 
every one who comes back says the same thing. 
From a miHtary point of view, cutting the shade 
trees across the roads was not of great value and 
must have taken a great deal of time, and the 
apple and other fruit trees seems to be pure de- 
sire to destroy. Although one thing I noticed, 
the young fruit trees were almost always spared, 
and this fact carries out the German theory that 
they destroyed only trees which could be used 
for shelters for guns or men. The trees on the 
side of the road are without doubt invaluable in 
the making of screens to hide the road when 
under fire, but, even with all these facts in one's 
mind, and trying to be fair, one is infuriated to 
think that these trees, so many, many years old, 
should be sacrificed. 

Once again one was impressed by the fact that 
a nation, or, I suppose one should say, two na- 
tions, who were keeping the whole world at bay, 
if not actually beating the whole world, could 
have time to do all the things with the attention 
to details which one finds in everything that the 
Germans touched. Take, for example, the fact 
that in the whole district which we covered — 
about thirty miles square surely — there is not 
a single bridge left. The present ones are every 



184 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

one military ones, more or less temporary. That 
is a true and exact statement — not a single 
bridge. The same is true of telephone and tele- 
graph poles — not one remains. Also there is 
not a stick of furniture of any sort, except things 
too big to be carted away, such as pulpits and 
big tables, which are hacked to pieces and are of 
no value now. There is not any furniture left in 
any house in any one of these villages. Germany 
must simply be full of French furniture! I can't 
think what they want it for, and what they plan 
to do with it, but, at any rate, they have taken 
it. In the houses they have blown up, if they 
have not removed it one could at least find the 
remains of it, — pieces of legs or something, — 
but there is no sign whatsoever, and I looked 
myself in many, many houses. How did they 
have the men and the time to do it all? Take 
also a little fact, but one so very characteristic 
of them. When an army takes possession of a 
village, one of the first things it does is to num- 
ber all the houses and mark them on the outside 
as to how many horses, men, and officers they 
will hold. The French do this in paint in more 
or less neat figures on the side of the house, but 
the Germans chiseled the numbers in the major- 
ity of cases over the house door! A little thing, 
but taking time just the same. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 185 

I think that before I got off on that ramble I 
was telling you about arriving at Chauny. This 
town is pretty newly destroyed, and very com- 
pletely so. It was evidently a manufacturing 
town, and the factories are now only a mass of 
twisted iron and steel. The rest of the village is 
literally ruined. I doubt if there is a house in the 
whole town that has two walls standing. We 
did not see it, if there is one. The completeness of 
the destruction is what impressed me. Nothing, 
nothing, left at all. It seems to me it will take 
generations to ever get that one town in shape 
again, and, of course, this is only one of many. 
As it is still under fire, we were scooted through, 
and were not allowed to get out, or take any pic- 
tures, for which I am sorry. From here we went 
via Guivry and Guisarde, two very much de- 
stroyed towns, to Champier, where we stopped 
and looked at a church which was ruined, and 
also saw for the first time graves which had been 
opened and emptied! This seems like a good 
story, I have no doubt. What in the world the 
German army wants with the contents of French 
graveyards I do not know, but I do know that 
they have opened and pillaged great numbers 
of the graves. At first it seemed to me that the 
sarcophagus might have been split open by the 
shock caused by the explosion of the church 



186 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

and other near buildings, for there must be a 
jolly shock when a church falls down in pieces, 
but I saw many graveyards which were not in 
the churchyard and which were also desecrated. 
I was interested to see the depth of the older 
graves. They were all brick-lined, and surely 
eight feet deep. This destroying graves has also 
had a very infuriating effect on the people in 
the district, particularly as there are such awful 
stories afoot about the Germans using their 
dead for all sorts of horrible purposes. 

Roye was the next town. Here the Germans 
played a sort of dreadful joke on the inhabitants. 
They have left the outsides of the houses in fairly 
good shape compared with the other villages, 
but have destroyed the interiors perhaps even 
more completely than ever. One house on the 
road into Roye looks as if a giant had cut it in 
two. The section which remains standing is par- 
tially furnished; for instance, in the third story 
there is a desk and chair, and a bust on a shelf 
against the wall! Think of that bust staying 
there through all the shock which must have 
resulted in the building being blown up. We 
saw several queer freak sights like that. Among 
other things which made one feel that the inno- 
cent, peaceful inhabitants of these villages are 
the ones who are bearing the greater part of the 






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OVER PERISCOPE POND 187 

war was a soldier home on permission, who had 
just got the key to his house from the Mairie, 
for they do not let people go into their houses 
until they have been inspected, as I told you that 
the Germans leave everything loaded. So this 
man went into his house and shop for the first 
time, and we all trailed in after him. The shop 
was once a good-sized store for ammunition and 
fishing-tackle, and that sort of stuff, — shelves 
running right up to the ceiling, with glass doors. 
Every one of the shelves was emptied on the 
floor and then exploded, every pane of glass 
was shattered in every door to every cupboard. 
This again is an exact statement. Now to take 
the goods off all those shelves, to smash every 
pane of glass, to burn and destroy everything 
that was not movable in that store, counters and 
such, must have taken time, and they did the 
same thing in every single store! Upstairs the 
same story — no furniture, walls mutilated, and 
windows gone. All metal things gone also, ex- 
cept lead, which they did not evidently care 
about. The French army gathers together the 
bits of gutter-pipes and lead plates which were 
on the roofs, and uses them again, but the Ger- 
mans preferred brass and steel. The soldier did 
not say much. He told us, in grunts and shrugs 
mostly, that his wife and five children were lost. 



188 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

evacuated, and he had not heard from them for 
a long time. He kept saying, "What is there for 
me to do?" And none of us could answer him. 
The officer told him that the township would 
have the store cleaned out for him, if he asked 
them to. They use the prisoners for this, and it 
must be very irritating to the Boches to have to 
clean up their own handiwork! Also they send 
them into the houses first to try and find any 
loaded bombs, placed thoughtfully in clocks, or 
under doors and such places. 

After looking about the town some more, we 
came on to Suzoy, where we stopped again to 
see the Boche drawings in the Mairie. It seems 
that they used that building for their staff head- 
quarters during their prolonged stay there, and 
so decorated the walls a bit after their own taste. 
They did this in many places, but in most of the 
towns the natives have been so infuriated by 
the drawings that they have already destroyed 
them, but this village has saved theirs and shows 
them to you with pride. I could not help think- 
ing of the Cook's tourists who will be shown 
them later on, I suppose. The chief and most 
important one of these drawings covers the en- 
tire end wall of the big hall. The side walls have 
medallions of the various crowned heads of 
Europe, more or less terrible caricatures. The 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 189 

big picture shows two fat naked German devils, 
with broad grins, and horns sticking out of their 
heads, and with long, pointed, forked tails, sit- 
ting in hell and watching and superintending the 
frying of the crowned heads of their enemies. 
The kings and presidents are all dangling on pea- 
cock feathers, trying not to slip into the fire, but 
all are sliding towards their doom. In the center, 
in the hottest part, — in fact, right in the flame, 
— are two figures, one. King George, I should 
imagine, and the other a neat little Highlander 
in his kilts. This is interesting in view of all the 
stories one hears about the Germans being more 
afraid of and hating the Scotch regiments more 
than any others, is it not? The pictures are well 
drawn, but are hideous, and you can imagine 
their effect on a French villager! There were 
also some excellent black-and-white charcoal 
sketches, which were really beautifully done, 
showing what happened in villages where the 
Germans were sniped at. A real artist must have 
done these last pictures. The most interesting 
thing in the village was a rough grave in the 
churchyard with a green board for a tombstone, 
bearing the following: — 

" Ici a creve 

Le Boche 

Qui a fait 

Sauter I'figlise. 

18 Mars, 1917." 



190 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

The story is that the officer, who ordered the 
destruction of the church just before their de- 
parture, was found half buried in the church- 
yard, the next morning (after the destruction), 
presumably killed by a French obus, but, to my 
way of thinking, more likely sniped by an irate 
villager. Anyway, the story is good, and the few 
remaining villagers like to tell it, and do it well. 

All the time that I was on this trip I think the 
thing that gave me the sincerest sympathy with 
the people was the thought which was constantly 
in my mind: "Suppose this was Marion; suppose 
this was our house, our garden, etc." 

Another rather amusing incident in Suzoy was 
an old lady, who appeared from somewhere, and 
insisted upon telling us her story. The thing 
that was uppermost in her mind, and the thing 
which she has personally against the Kaiser, — 
more than the destruction of her home, the total 
loss of possessions, the killing of one of her chil- 
dren by an obus, — all these are of slight conse- 
quence beside the awful fact that the German 
commander took with him when he left every 
solitary key in the whole village! "And how do 
you expect me to get along — this is too much, 
too much." If you know how the French love to 
lock up anything and everything, you can im- 
agine what a tragedy this was! 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 191 

Lassigny was the next village, and was in 
some ways the most totally destroyed one which 
we saw. There is nothing left at all. We went 
through it quickly, and returned to Noyon, 
where we left our officer with many thanks, and 
turned towards Compiegne, where we arrived 
at about 9 p.m., tired out, or, at any rate, I was 
dead. We had a good dinner, and I turned in 
very soon after. I had seen so many battlefields, 
so much destruction and so many novel sights, 
that I was afraid I would not sleep, but I did. 
Maybe the wine which we had at dinner made 
me sleep, but, anyway, I only came to at 7.30 
the next a.m. I had some coffee and went down 
to find that the car was wet, and that the cap 
on the front wheel was cut open, and the grease 
running out. This meant something was wrong 
with the bearings, I knew, but, as Compiegne is 
about as convenient as the Desert of Sahara 
when it comes to getting hold of Ford parts, 
I decided to let well enough alone, and so tied 
it up with wire as best I could. King Edward 
showed a great longing to investigate, but I 
would not let him! As long as a Ford will run, 
let it run, is my motto — particularly when 
seventy-five kilometres from the nearest Maison 
Ford. 

We all went at nine sharp to the famous Car- 



192 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

rel Hospital, and were given an hour and a half 
lecture with colored slides of his system of irriga- 
tion. This was interesting, but I fear one mem- 
ber of the party felt that she would rather be out 
looking at things and battlefields than at slides 
of human beings, torn to pieces and then all 
nicely mended. After the talk, Dr. C. joined us, 
and took us through two wards. We watched 
some dressings which were gory and quite inter- 
esting. He assured us that he did not hurt the 
patient, but there was a difference of opinion on 
that subject, for the poilus yelled nobly most of 
the time. I talked with one man particularly. 
He attracted me, for he was so young-looking 
and was sitting up in bed with his leg on a 
pulley out in front of him, and in the most 
detached position I have ever seen. It did not 
seem to be part of him at all. He was reading a 
choice book called "La Douleur de I'Amour." 
I asked him if he did n't have a pain worse than 
love, and he allowed that he thought yes. He 
was a nice soul, and I am sending him some 
magazines to while away the time, for he will 
remain, even in this hospital where they are so 
quick, for several months. One nice old wizened- 
looking man said that he had been in five hos- 
pitals, had seven operations, and now was here 
with his right arm and left leg suspended. I 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 193 

asked him how he stood it, and he said that he 
would stand anything rather than go back to the 
trenches again, and Hve in water for two months 
at a time. A queer choice? We came away at 
about half-past eleven, after having had a long 
talk with Dr. C, who said the same thing that 
I have heard from so many sides. I asked why, if 
his system of irrigation could so reduce amputa- 
tion, mortality, and suffering, did n't the other 
French hospitals adopt it. He said that it was 
a new thing, and that they would not, because 
they are not used to the idea, and they prefer to 
keep on in the same old way, cutting off the limb 
if poisoning sets in, and so sending out a tremen- 
dous number of needlessly crippled men. How 
awful that does seem! I do hope that America 
is going to be sensible and profit by all the mis- 
takes that the Allies have made so far. 

From here we went in the direction of Sois- 
sons, and, much to our surprise, were able to 
persuade the guard at the outskirts of the town 
to let us enter, for women are not really meant 
to be admitted, as the city is still under fire. In 
some ways, this was the most interesting thing 
we saw. The cathedral was a wonderful and sad- 
dening sight. I would give a great deal to be 
able to attend a service in it some night. They 
are still holding them in the ruins, and, with the 



194 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

sound of the guns, which is very distinct, and 
with all the uniforms, a service held in the ruined 
cathedral, with the windows all shattered, the 
roof mostly gone, and the outer walls all pitted 
and scarred, must be impressive. I could not 
get a good picture of the towers, or rather the 
one remaining one, but I shall have a copy of 
Sydney Fairbanks's, which is taken from a 
neighboring roof, and is excellent. They say 
that there is not a house in Soissons which has 
not been hit, and I can believe it. There are 
quite a few inhabitants left still, and they say 
they are going to stay until the last gasp. 

We could only stay for a short time, for we 
were due for lunch at the American Escadrille, 
Flying Corps, which has its headquarters at 
Chaudon, south of Soissons. I had hoped that 
this would be the corps which I knew, but was 
not too sure, for the last time we had seen Har- 
old Willis he was at Ham. However, you can 
imagine whether I was pleased to see, when we 
drove up to the camp, all the people whom I 
knew: Walter Lovell and Stephen Bigelow and 
Harold Willis. I, being the only thing this side 
of thirty in the party, naturally had a time! 
We had a swell luncheon, and afterwards saw 
everything there was to see. It is lucky for 
your peace of mind. Daddy, that they have 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 195 

only single passenger machines now, for nothing 
would have stopped me if they could have taken 
me up. I never was so thrilled by anything — 
to see them fly in circles, and upside down, and 
every which way, was too wonderful. Harold 
told me all about the engine, and how to work 
it, and I even got inside his machine and tried 
the whole thing. I hate to say it, but I am 
going to have a fly some day before I die, and, 
if I have a rich husband, I shall have flying 
machines, not jewels, for my hobby. I saw the 
most wonderful pictures, and, oh, hundreds of 
things. They have two lion cubs for mascots, 
and the best-looking dogs you ever saw — one 
German sheep dog is so intelligent it is hard to 
believe that he can't speak. You simply tell 
him anything and he does it. He belongs to the 
captain. After spending as long a time there 
as we could, we came home via La Ferte Millon 
and Meaux, taking in the old battlefield of the 
Marne, and seeing Miss Aldrich's House on 
the Marne. It was hard to believe that this 
district was once as much fought over as that 
which we saw first — it is so grown up now. For 
one thing, they did not use barbed-wire entan- 
glements half as much as they do now. I cannot 
get over the miles and miles and miles of fields 
we saw, all criss-crossed with wire. I keep won- 



196 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

dering who is going to take it all up when the 
war is over. 

We arrived in Paris at about eight o'clock, 
and it was a tired but thrilled Marje who came 
home to Rootie. 

Lots and lots of love from your loving and 
very sleepy daughter, 

Mabje. 



XIX 

FROM ESTHER 

Wednesday, June 20, 1917. 11:15 p.m. 

Dearest Father: — 

I don't know whether or not I have explained 
to you suflBciently about my vacation; but I do 
know that the work and life in general are going 
more smoothly now than for some time past, 
and that with the spring more or less broken into 
by one thing and another, I am only too glad to 
have a steady stretch in which to work with- 
out any more interruptions than necessary. I 
should n't know what to do with myself for two 
or three months' vacation, and the present ar- 
rangement, of having the month of August and 
every other Monday off, seems ideal to me. 

For oyer a month we have doubled up, Marje 
and I, and are just twice as happy as we were. 
You will remember that the marginal space in 
which I lived and moved, always carefully, 
around my bed, was small to say the least (cer- 
tainly Madame gave me bed and board!), and 
what was worse, it was in the other apartment 
from Marje. By a strange system of two keys 



198 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

hung on each front door, passing across from one 
apartment to the other was made as diflBcult 
as possible. We called it going through the port- 
cullis, having no idea what that meant. And 
next to Marje's room was the big salon of the 
apartment, thriftily converted by Madame into 
a bedroom and exclusively tenanted by the wife 
of a French officer. To her I made appeal one 
fine day — after hours of egging on and double- 
daring, etc. — that she exchange rooms with 
me. Here she was surrounded by gray paneling, 
a bay window, a carved marble mantelpiece, and 
easy access to the dining-room; whereas I had to 
offer her a room of no size, no sunlight, the pink 
wall-paper, red leather armchair, and chimney 
that won't draw. However, there must have 
been something in my manner, or even some- 
thing in my smile, or in the fact that my room 
was two francs a day cheaper and had run- 
ning water in the cabinet, that made her want 
to exchange. Also, the doors to the salon are 
broad and made of glass with only china silk cur- 
tains to protect one, and she felt — happUy — 
that it was n't quite convenable for a chambre 
a coucher. Tuesday morning dawned. All the 
maids turned out in excitement. Madame was 
everywhere at once, particularly where a poor 
little sandy-haired tapissier was doing his best 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 199 

to move a two-ton armoire; the whole idea was 
considered so bizarre — to have one room as 
bedroom, with two armoires at once — that the 
work of it all presented thrills. I never saw such 
dust and flurry, or such an accumulation of junk 
as I extracted from my former nest. 

Slowly we settled. We would stand of an 
evening like newly-weds in the newly acquired 
dominion and plan our furnishings. Yellow and 
black was to be the color scheme, with my lamp- 
shade and piano as keynotes — two armchairs 
and a divan to be covered with something, and 
the traces of the era Minard (the officer's wife) 
to be eliminated. The lace tidies came off, the 
pictures of Calvary likewise, the strips of car- 
pet put under the bed, and the statuettes and 
vases hidden. There was a washstand, a double- 
decker, and a Japanese screen to be disposed of 
somehow without Madame's guessing that we 
were n't wild about her furniture. It was days 
before we dared act. Marje did it. I should 
have told Madame that we were navrees not to 
have enough room to keep them and would they 
be safe in the cellar? but Marje — a diplomatic 
one — asked Madame if she thought it was quite 
comme il faut for two young girls to have a 
washstand in their salon? and with a "I should 
think not! " it was gone. 



200 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

We looked at cretonnes — plain stripes; then 
wiggly stripes with roses and a conventional 
basket; then a formal design of children play- 
ing by a table; and on and on — always in- 
troducing yellow. Suddenly we saw our cre- 
tonne. A big gray pot of deep-rose peonies, 
with little white birds hovering over, and a 
little blue wistaria, all against a blue-and-gray 
lattice, with ultimate background of black. It 
is gorgeous. The design is twenty-seven inches 
high. We bought yards and yards — not to say 
metres and metres. 

Then came upholstering. We worked with 
pins and warm language, and in five days had 
covered the divan, two armchairs, and six pil- 
lows. Marje did the pinning. I did the cutting. 
Then two long straight curtains beside the glass 
doors. 

As for our yellow, my wonderful tea-set that I 
told you about, and some candlesticks painted 
yellow, and some bright yellow and black-and- 
tan striped pillows and the lampshade are the 
only yellow things. In the cretonne was only 
one pale lemon-colored flower; but I am slowly 
going round with my little brush and painting in 
the right yellow with water-colors. It 's wonder- 
ful, all of it. 

Then we have a nest of tables of plain un- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 201 

varnished wood that I got for nineteen francs — 
four tables for less than four dollars — and we 
fight constantly as to whether they are to be 
painted cream or black. You can imagine how 
lovely my black leather writing-pad that you 
gave me looks on the table, and with Leo sunning 
in the bay window, why, Mme. de Sevigne need 
not apply; and I forgot a gorgeous blue hydran- 
gea that Marje gave me for my birthday. 

You can't imagine what a difference it makes 
to have a place to breathe in, and to play in, and 
to read the "New Republic" in, and to sew in, 
and to have afternoon tea in, etc. We feel so 
settled and permanent. Just wait until the war 
ends and you all come over to call! 

I think we both feel a good deal better for the 
change. The Shurtleff car has been running 
fairly well lately. 

I must tell you about my birthday — Marje 
wished me merry birthday the first thing in the 
morning, and then over at the Vestiaire Miss 
Curtis and Miss Sturgis presented me with a jar 
of real guava jelly. They had some left over 
from a steamer box when I first came, and re- 
membered how fond I was of it. I was tre- 
mendously pleased to have any one think of my 
birthday, over here where everything is so dif- 
fer«it. 



302 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

I went visiting all morning and took packages 
for prisoners, in the car, and sent them off. In 
the afternoon Marje and I did more visiting and 
hurried home for tea at five. Mrs. Shurtleff and 
Gertrude had tea with us and admired the salon, 
which had lately been fixed up, and then Miss 
Curtis blew in. She was going away the next day 
for two days to the country and wanted the Asso- 
ciation car to go to the Ford place in her absence. 
She mentioned also some chairs and tables to be 
delivered up in Montmartre and a bed that had 
to go to Neuilly. It was after half -past five, — 
still later, I guess, — and she looked dead. So 
we offered to do it for her. She is always so won- 
derful to us. The car had the things all loaded 
on, but it 's always a job to go to Montmartre. 
The streets go straight uphill — so straight that 
they often end in a flight of steps, not marked on 
the map, and you have to back down and try 
another. Finally, we found the little back alley 
which was our first stop. The concierge's hus- 
band helped unload the table and chairs and he 
was obsequiously drunk. He was too polite for 
words, and after the furniture was installed he 
explained that he was no mover, but a marchand 
de vin, and would n't ces dames step in pour se 
refraichir. I could n't believe what he was say- 
ing, and Marje got hysterical over my tact (so- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 203 

called), and I wanted to start off quickly, but 
dignifiedly. The car would n't move. Crowds 
gathered. Suddenly I bethought myself of push- 
ing the car — it was so very steep. But, of 
course, we were headed wrong, and you never 
can start the engine by pushing the car when 
you're going backwards. However, we decided 
to push until we came to a cross street and could 
then turn around. We did this amid cheers. 
Then Marje took off the brake and let her coast. 
Not a leaf stirring. She said the carburetor 
must be wrong, and that she needed priming. 
So I pulled out the primer, backing along the 
cobblestones as fast as I could while the car 
coasted; all women and children drawing hastily 
away at the sight of a girl apparently pulling a 
camion down the street with one finger. But 
she started that way, and off we went. One has 
to be habile quelquefois. I think that Santa 
Claus in the shape of a lady from America is 
bringing us a self-starter. 

Then out to Neuilly with the bed. The poor 
little woman that we took it to was overjoyed, 
as she and her children had taken turns sleeping 
on the floor ever since theirs had gone from their 
home la-bas. 

Finally to Maison Ford just outside of Paris. 
We left the car, walked back to the gates of Paris, 



204 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

and started to go home in the Metro. We hap- 
pened to notice that it was twenty minutes of 
eight and home three quarters of an hour away. 

So we went to Premier's, one of my favorite 
places. Marje gave me the dinner of my hfe: 
lobster and real ice cream. I began talking about 
all my different birthdays, especially the one 
at college when I took my last exam and my 
ring came. I shall never forget that afternoon. 
Maidie and I had dinner at Rahar's, where we 
were forbidden to go without a chaperon, and 
she bet me the dinner that I would n't dare go 
up to the head of the philosophy department, 
whom we did n't know at all, but who was there, 
and ask him to chaperon us. Of course I did, and 
of course he was lovely, and came and sat with 
us a few minutes and said he hoped we'd take 
his courses some day when we grew up — and I 
a senior! 

Then I told Marje about Bailey's and Stet- 
son's and the ocean and everything. Gee! but 
we had a great time — I've almost stopped say- 
ing '*Gee." 

After dinner we found a horse cab in front of 
the restaurant and drove home. It was late twi- 
light, and as we crossed the Concorde, we saw 
a tremendous big yellow full moon rising over 
Notre Dame. I nearly always stop when I'm 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 205 

driving over the Concorde bridge because I love 
that view down the river so, but the cab went 
so slowly we did n't have to. It was all purple 
and gold, with the yellow moon and reflections in 
the Seine. I never saw such an evening. 

The next morning I received your dear cable 
and that pleased me more than anything else. 
Thank you all for thinking of me. I've never 
been so far away before, have I? 

The other night we returned home late and 
very tired and we were too late for dinner, — 
for a change, — so we went out and gave a fare- 
well dinner"! to ourselves: four omelettes and 
lots of strawberries. Home and to bed early — 
we were tired and excited and happy all at once. 
We left Miss Curtis's car beside the house in an 
open space behind the sidewalk, having taken 
everything takable out, and disconnected two 
spark-plugs. 

We were barely horizontal between the sheets 
when tat-tat-tat — came at the door. Madame, 
backed by half the pensionnaires and the con- 
cierge, were in procession. We were taking such 
a risk in leaving the car there — such vandalism 
mauvais gens could commit. It was unthinkable 
to leave a car there, la la, and, anyway, we would 
have a proces verbal brought against us. 

If it had been our car we would have taken the 



206 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

risk, but we did n't dare with some one's else. 
Up we got and dressed as hurriedly as possible. 
It seemed like a nightmare. Back we put the 
spark-plugs and the other things and started off. 

We went to our place, where the jitney is kept, 
to ask if they could possibly take another car, 
and they said yes, there was just room — but 
that we'd have to take the car out before 7.30 in 
the morning because the car in back of it was to 
leave at that time. It did n't seem as though we 
could bear it. I suggested, although I knew it 
was wild (Marje is too mechanical for words), 
that we leave the brake off and put logs under 
the wheels and that he just give it a shove at 
7.29 the next morning and roll it down the in- 
cline into the street. By Jove, he agreed. We 
slept peacefully that night and called for the car 
at a quarter of nine the next morning, as we 
always do. 

Marje discovered that her passport had run 
out, and as it is always a good thing to have 
about, we chased over to the Embassy after 
Saturday morning conference and had it re- 
newed. She was off, too, for a sudden trip to the 
devastated towns, and we realized that we were 
to be separated for two whole days. You know, 
it was the first time since Bordeaux. I felt wid- 
owed, and she thought it was going to be a crazy 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 207 

party and was oflF the whole idea, anyway. But 
she left at three sharp and I went and had a 
shampoo. The Ambulance men who had brought 
over the candy from Mrs. Crocker had asked 
Marje to dine at the Chinese Umbrella that 
night, and she had n't been able to let them 
know she could n't make it; so just before she 
left I promised to take Mrs. Allen and Mary, 
with whom I was going to spend the night, to 
dinner there and ward the men off. The bank 
was closed, and Marje had had to borrow some 
money from me. This and the dinner don't sound 
related, but they were. 

I was pleased that the Aliens would go with 
me — I run over there quite a lot and they al- 
ways have something extra for me, and are kind- 
ness itself, anyway. But I discovered I had just 
twenty francs to my name. Now the Chinese 
Umbrella has the best straight American food in 
town, but it is expensive, as everything is nowa- 
days. I never was so nervous. 

I met the Ambulance boys safely enough and 
painted a colorful picture of Marje's departure 
and they were successfully thrilled. 

But for dinner — we had orangeade and fried 
chicken, slipping around our plates with no 
vegetables (happily the asparagus had been used 
up — also the potatoes!); cornbread, and finally 



208 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

strawberry shortcake. When pay time came I 
stepped into the office planning to throw myself 
on Miss Pabris's (the proprietor's) neck if all 
were not well. She knows me because I got a job 
through Mrs. Shurtleff for one of my protegees 
washing dishes at the Chinese Umbrella. But it 
was nineteen francs. I pulled out my francs, 
and largesse with a stray fifty centimes, and 
stepped proudly out — not knowing where 
Metro tickets, not to mention a taxi, were to 
come from. 

As we passed the kitchen windows a voice 
hailed me and there was Mme. Beau, my friend 
and protegee, with a dishtowel clutched in one 
hand, and five francs extended in the other. The 
poor thing owed it to me, she said. I had ut- 
terly forgotten it; part of some money I had lent 
her when her baby died. Mrs. Shurtleff thought 
it was better to have her pay part of it back. 

Well, there was supply — what cared I for 
the Metro .f* We looked for a taxi, but there was 
none to be had. So I contented myself with buy- 
ing three tickets as pompously as possible. 

On Monday, hard work moving furniture and 
taking packages with two amusing Ambulance 
boys, just landed, to help me. One from Mon- 
tana, the best-looking thing you could hope to 
see, was equally entertaining on the subject of 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 209 

the "Harvard Sisters" who had come over on 
the boat with him, and of his Paris experiences. 

From tea-time on, I was all ears to hear Marje 
drive up. Finally she came. About 8.30 it was. 
Such a lot as she had to tell. Perhaps I shall 
have something first hand for you some day, but 
certainly what she said was worth talking about. 
The party was made up of two carloads; among 
them, Mr. and Mrs. Will Irwin, and Mrs. Nor- 
man Hapgood. 

Now I could never drive a car over such roads 
or take care of the engine or tires if there should 
be any trouble (Marje had three punctures), so 
my idea is to go as a journalist and take the same 
route as this party did. Do you think. Father, 
you could get me a chance? Think over your 
newspaper acquaintance. 

Devotedly, 

Esther. 



XX 

FROM MARJORIE 

12 Place Denfert-Rochereau, July 4, 1917. 

Dearest Mother and Daddy: — 

It is eleven o'clock in the morning, and by all 
rights I should be working in the Vestiaire, but 
here I am at home writing you. I '11 tell you why. 
First place, it is the Mh of July, and I am away 
from home for the first time; second place, it is 
Wednesday, and I want to get this letter off to- 
day, so that you will surely get it. 

Everything is most delightfully upset at the 
Vestiaire. Rootie and I turned up for work as 
usual this a.m., and found that the balcony of 
the Arts Decoratifs building — on rue Rivoli — 
had been offered to the workers at the Vestiaire 
this morning, to watch the parade of our soldiers ! 
We just all tumbled into the two cars as fast 
as we could, — Dr. Shurtleff coming in ours, 
— and with Rootie driving, we followed Miss 
Curtis as fast as we could over to the Louvre. 
When we arrived at the entrance to the garden, 
under those old gray stone arches, there were 
many policemen guarding the way, and they 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 211 

all pointed down the street, saying that we must 
follow the Quai, but Mrs. Shurtleff leaned out 
of the car and said that we were an American 
ceuvre, and that we were going to see our sol- 
diers from special seats, so they let us through. 
We put the cars in one corner of the garden 
and then went through to the Arts Decoratifs 
building. The balcony was one flight up, and 
almost on the corner of rue des Pyramides, 
where the statue of Jeanne d'Arc is. We could 
see the procession as it rounded the corner at 
the Place de la Concorde, and watch it out of 
sight down the rue Rivoli. The sidewalks were 
already lined with people, and the balconies all 
along were full of people. Just as we could hear 
the drums faintly, and could just make out the 
Garde de Paris on their horses, with their white 
belts and shining brass helmets, we heard an 
ah-h — run through the crowd. A flying ma- 
chine — one of the smaller French ones, with 
the tricolor painted on each wing — was making 
circles and diving down low, and soaring up 
again over the soldiers as they crossed the Con- 
corde. The pilot was magnificent to watch, but 
very reckless, for he flew so low and turned 
such tremendously quick curves that if anything 
went wrong, he would have hurt many people, 
and, of course, not had a chance himself. How- 



212 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

ever, it was wonderful to watch, and got the 
crowd thoroughly excited. It made me think of 
the performance the first man gave who went up 
to show us — when we were at Chaudon, see- 
ing the American Escadrille. When he came 
down, he got fits from the captain for taking 
such chances! After a short wait, they came, 
and the crowd just went mad: first, the Garde 
Republicaine, on wonderful-looking horses; then 
a French band, all in uniform, of course, and 
much to oiu* joy they struck up a tune just at 
our corner. They were such a fine-looking lot 
of men — short, thick-set, hardy, jovial chaps, 
each one with a rose either pinned to his coat or 
stuck in his helmet strap. The few soldiers who 
formed sort of a guard for the band had their 
roses stuck in the end of their rifles ! 

After these came the Americans!! Oh, it was 
great! A score of mounted officers leading, with 
one French capitaine in the middle, and then the 
band, with a drum major and all! It was too 
thrilling to ever put down on paper. The crowd 
just howled and shouted and jumped up and 
down, threw flowers, and we on the balcony 
yelled as loud as we could. Then another very 
fine-looking officer, and right behind him the 
soldiers. Not so very many, only one battalion, 
— the Sixteenth Infantry, the flag said, — but a 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 213 

fine-looking lot of soldiers. They were noticeably 
taller than the French, were very thin, and all 
much tanned. I think they must have been in 
Mexico. The crowd let the first half march past, 
but the last division, which for some reason did 
not have their rifles, were surrounded by the 
mob, which just carried them along, all good- 
naturedly shouting and pushing, so that the 
ranks were broken badly in some places. This 
did not add to the looks of the parade from a 
military point of view, but it was so typically 
French. They simply had to join in, and the 
police were powerless, so that the end of the 
parade was a seething mass of soldiers. Boy 
Scouts, men and women, with a few police trying 
vainly to keep the people back. I shall never 
forget it. It was magnificent. I hate to think 
that our country has come into it finally, and I 
could n't help thinking all the time that these 
men, who are walking down the street so gayly 
now, will probably go to the front and be killed 
soon; what for? It does seem so wicked, but the 
French need something to put new enthusiasm 
into them, for even that undying thing, French 
courage, is showing signs of wearing out after 
these three years, and now the American sol- 
diers actually getting here does thrill them. It 
was so thrilling to see a French crowd get so 



214 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

excited. You know how it just carries you away 
to hear thousands yelHng and clapping. It was 
mighty interesting. I imagine it is about the first 
time that " The Fourth " has been celebrated in 
Paris. After it was over, we came back to the 
Vestiaire, and settled down to a morning's work. 
I told Dr. S. that we ought to have a holiday 
this afternoon, and he agreed; so he talked to 
Mrs. S. and we are to have the whole p.m. free! 
I had left my typewriter at home, so I brought 
my cards and things home, and am going to do 
them after lunch and to-night. They can wait a 
little, and I do want to get this off so. 

I will take a chance on the censor reading 
this, and tell you the little that we know over 
here. In many ways we are as much out of touch 
with things as you are. France does seem to be 
really feeling the war more than she has admitted 
hithertofore. It is evident in the way the peo- 
ple talk in the Metro and at the restaurant and 
everywhere. It is shown in the constant strikes 
• — the women too. This last strike of the taxis 
is in some ways a good thing — the Metro now 
runs all night, or rather until midnight, which 
is much more convenient. Russia, from all one 
hears, is out of the game, for the present, at any 
rate. She is not to be reckoned with either way. 
Dr. G. feels that the Allies are lucky if she does 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 215 

not make a separate peace. Mr. A. feels that if 
the Allies with our help, mostly moral help, can 
give Germany a big scare in the next few weeks, 
maybe there will be an upheaval there, and that 
the Kaiser will abdicate, and then every one will 
be ready to talk peace. If not, and if the Ger- 
mans get a good harvest, — and there is every 
prospect of their doing so, — he feels that she 
has won; that she can go on forever. Every 
one now admits, even French officers, that the 
spring offensive was a failure, and the loss of 
life was something terrible, worse than Verdun; 
also that the Germans have the upper hand now 
in a military way. The submarine question you 
can get little news about. England runs that 
news, and so one can tell nothing. Certainly 
there are a great many more losses than they will 
acknowledge. For instance. Dr. Gibbons told 
me that several times he will see in the German 
lists certain boats sunk many days before the 
British publish it. There is no doubt about it, 
the French are lacking many things, principally 
flour and sugar. The bread over here is very bad 
now, very dark, coarse, and often sour. We buy 
bread baked in loaves from a pain de sante store, 
which is conveniently located on rue Ernest 
Cresson. Inasmuch as London, at any rate, was 
much more poorly off than Paris when I was 



216 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

there in January, it is reasonable to suppose that 
they are still worse off, particularly as the Ger- 
mans have sunk more English ships than any 
other nation's. It seems to be hard to get any 
definite reports as to the conditions in England; 
no one comes to France via England any more! 

It is pretty late now, so I will stop. Lots and 
lots of love from your daughter, 

Mabje. 



XXI 

FROM ESTHER 

Place Denfert-Rochereau (XIV), July 23, 1917. 

Dearest Mother: — 

It is great to know that you are all so happy 
at Bailey's and accomplishing so much for us. 
Little sister, sitting with hands folded on the 
other side of Periscope Pond, wonders why the 
youngsters don't amuse themselves sometimes 
by erecting, or by listening to Charles Thomas 
erect, a good spring-board. We've needed one 
long; and if you don't think that summer pos- 
terity would be grateful, then you don't know 
this member of it as well as I think you do. 

I have the queerest feeling when I talk about 
summer and Bailey's. Life goes along just the 
same here: up every morning, work all day, tea, 
more work, dinner, write, or play, and then bed. 
The weather is cool and beautiful, sometimes 
quite cold, occasionally rainy, but always I 
think of it being April, or possibly May; and a 
week from Wednesday is the first of August. 
Guess where I '11 be! Our vacation plans are very 
exciting and I can't wait for this week to be over. 
This is how things have worked out. 



218 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

When Father cabled me about going to 
Switzerland, the last thing on earth that I 
wanted to do was to go on a vacation. I con- 
sidered my week of grippe and my week at Saint- 
Germain a terrible lapse, and wanted to do 
everything in the world to make up for it. 
Agathe had been sent on a vacation, because 
she was worn out, and then I went off, leaving 

Mrs. L all alone at the Vestiaire. I worked 

as hard as I could during May, doing Vestiaire 
work in the morning, and visiting in the after- 
noon, driving the car a good deal, taking the big 
packages to the stations and sending them off, 
and doing a good many odd jobs. On the 15th of 

June, Mrs. L went away on her vacation, 

and I was left in charge of the Vestiaire, with 
Agathe to help. It was a circus and I enjoyed it 
hugely. Then on the 23d Marje broke her wrist 
and besides being pretty hard to bear for a while, 
it tied things up considerably. I was the sole 
chauffeur for the Association, and the sole hair- 
dresser, amanuensis, shoe- tier, bath-giver, etc., 
at Place-Denfert. Miss Curtis went over to the 
American Red Cross about the first of July, 
where she is invaluable. We miss her tremen- 
dously, however, and there will have to be a new 
distributing of work in the fall. Marje and I 
just adore her, and we miss working with her. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 219 

but she brings Miss Sturgis down to work every 
morning in the car so that we see her a good 
deal, anyway. She is the most clear-headed, 
honest, intelligent, nice person I ever knew. 
She is always a sport about everything — I can't 
imagine her doing anything that was n't so 
square that an ordinary person would n't ever 
even think of doing it. Marje and I would like 
to be just like her — and if ever anybody was n't, 
it's me! She has blue eyes and a deep voice, 
anyway; and I don't believe you can be really 
efficient without them. 

Well, there was n't much chance for a vaca- 
tion for me, was there? And I had no desire to 
go away and would even now stay with Marje 
if her arm was n't healing so wonderfully that 
she can go away right on schedule too. Mrs. 

L got back last Monday, the 16th, and Mrs. 

Shurtleff left on Tuesday, the 17th. I took her 
and all her trunks down to Gare Montparnasse 
in a perfect cloudburst, and then had to come 
back for a little hatbox. It's the best thing I 
do to handle other people's trunks; but you just 
wait till next Tuesday and I'll be off myself. 
Mrs. Shurtleff is beyond compare adorable, and I 
was glad of the extra visit I had with her. 

These last two weeks are being spent in wind- 
ing up loose threads, having a few families come 



220 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

to the Vestiaire, moving the last people on our 
list, going out to Montrouge for our last gasoline 
supply, calling for contributions of beds, sewing- 
machines, etc., buying a store of food for the 
Food Department, etc., etc. 

We have arranged with friends to take turns 
at the office during August, attending to impor- 
tant mail, sending out notices that the Vesti- 
aire is closed until October, giving out food to 
oiu* regular families every Tuesday, etc. The 
weather is no hardship — nothing like the heat 
of May and June, and for blueness and clearness 
equaled only at Bailey's. 

Well, Marje and I decided, way back when 
the snow flew, that we would be one and insepa- 
rable, now and forever, in regard to vacation; 
but as August loomed nearer, all we heard were 
the most discouraging reports of discomfort and 
expense in regard to hotels. So many of the 
usual resorts are closed that the few hotels any- 
where that are attractive, that are open, boost 
their prices way up. The last thing we wanted 
to do was to chase around after vacation started, 
to find a perch. We inquired about Switzerland 
and were told by the Embassy that it was feasi- 
ble; but by business men and the general public 
that it was made as difficult and unpleasant as 
possible to get back. Marje dreads a long train 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 221 

trip, and I knew Mrs. Shurtleff would have a fit 
if we went, and would worry over us. 

One day we asked Miss Curtis and Miss Stur- 
gis quite casually what their plans were, and 
Miss Curtis said that all she wanted was to be 
"somewhere near the sea, tied by the leg and 
left to browse." Then Miss Buchanan, the terri- 
bly nice Scotch girl, sculptor, who gives half her 
time to the work, was sounded, and we found 
we all wanted the same thing. We got Baedeker, 
picked out euphonieus names, and wrote to 
thirteen different hotels. One answered — and 
sent a hideous post-card view. Miss Sturgis and 
Miss Curtis keep house and were going to send 
the maids off somewhere. Suddenly they pro- 
posed taking a villa, and a Miss Hyde, also a 
worker, told us of the villa she had rented last 
year, and I went over and telegraphed, and yes- 
terday morning got a reply that it was free, so 
we've taken it! It's in Brittany, near Dinard, 
and we go Tuesday, July 31st, on a couchette, 
and arrive the next morning. We have no linen 
and no silver, no coal or wood; no lamps or any- 
thing; but we have plans! Doesn't it sound 
entrancing? Villa Valerie, Val Andre, C6tes-du- 
Nord. I 'm just squealing with joy ! 

Esther. 



XXII 

FROM MAEJORIE 

Villa ValSrie, Vol Andri, par Pleneuf, Cdtea-dii-Nord, 
August 7, 1917. 

Dearest Mother: — 

Back to tke country is my cry! Simple life, 
and, therefore, simple paper. We bought this at 
Pleneuf the day before yesterday, when for the 
second time we tooted over there to get our pa- 
pers signed, only to find that the Mairie closes 
at eleven and at four! Since then we have de- 
cided that it is easier to let the paper question 
slide, as long as the Mairie has such inconven- 
ient hours! 

We certainly are the luckiest crew that ever 
sailed! Here we are comfortably settled in a 
nice little villa, with all the comforts of home 
and none of the responsibilities, for the maids 
(Miss Curtis's and Miss Sturgis's) take all of 
that, and all we have to do is to eat the excel- 
lent food which is offered us and sleep and loaf 
all day long. We have all wanted to go off for 
the month together, but have not known where 
to go nor how to get there; so we sat around 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 223 

and waited for something to happen, and sure 
enough, a friend offered us this villa. We just 
grabbed it, and came down a week ago to-mor- 
row. I simply cannot believe that we are in 
France. Paris, refugees, jitney Fords, and work 
seem so far away. We are certainly leading a 
healthy life, and, if we do not all go back to 
Paris with a healthy burn and lots of energy, 
it will not be the fault of the wonderful air 
and, I might say, sea, down here. I do not 
think that any of us realized how tired we were 
until we arrived. Since then we have taken 
things easy. 

We breakfast any time after 9 a.m., and we 
babies (Rootie and myself) have an egg for 
breakfast. That does not sound like anything to 
you, but it means a lot to us — nice, fresh eggs 
that are brought in by a girl who makes me 
think of Josey, she is so persistent; the poor 
hens hardly have time to lay, she is looking for 
the eggs so constantly! Also we have our coffee 
more like American citizens! No more boiled 
milk for us; also toasted bread. We find that 
the bread here is very good, and particularly so 
when toasted. After breakfast, we all sit around 
and plan what is to happen. Usually Miss 
Sturgis and Miss Curtis and Miss Buchanan go 
off to paint, leaving Rootie and myself. We try 



224 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

to write a few letters, but it is awfully hard, 
with all the things we want to talk over now 
that we have the time, and with the delightful 
peasant women cutting the hay and doing the 
gardening right under our windows. Also there 
is always Marthe, very different, very quiet and 
gentle, and quite reconciled to our queer ways; 
but Marthe cannot get over the "Demoiselles" 
putting butter on fried potatoes! However, she 
brushes our clothes so hard and so faithfully 
that it makes me wish I had brought my suit 
down to be cared for by her. 

Luncheon comes at 12.30, or whatever time 
we get home. We have a way of just running 
up to the top of the hill for one peep at the 
sea at 12.15, which gives us great joy, and does 
not seem to bother the maids. We eat on the 
porch, all covered with honeysuckle, roses, and 
with a beautiful fig tree just outside. 

The war seems very far away down here. 
There is a hospital in the village, but otherwise 
than that one can hardly believe that while 
we are loafing and playing down here, men are 
being slaughtered at the front, which, after all, 
is not too far away! I told you that Miss Curtis 
went over to the Red Cross, for they offered her 
a splendid position in just the line of work she is 
most interested in, and, of course, Mrs. Shurt- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 225 

leff would n't have her stay with our little work 
when she has the chance to be part, and an im- 
portant part, of such a big one. She is to take 
charge of the reconstructing of four devastated 
villages, which are to be models to the rest 
which the Red Cross expect to do later. She 
goes up from here on the 13th, and, after she gets 
her papers, will go to the villages in question and 
live there, working among the people, planning 
how to get the village on its feet again. All her 
work is to be with the view to making recom- 
mendations in the future to other committees 
who will do the same work. The Red Cross is 
to work through existing organizations, and to 
make recommendations and give money to work- 
ers who will be capable of reorganizing these 
villages. Miss Curtis will have a wonderful ex- 
perience, won't she? She is taking Miss Sturgis 
with her, which is rather a gloom for us, for I do 
not believe that we will ever see either of them 
at 18 rue Ernest Cresson again, for they are 
wavering about going home this winter. Also, 
of course, the Red Cross will work in many other 
fields, but this reconstruction is one of the most 
important. 

Needless to say, I was unable to finish this 
without being interrupted. To-day is Tuesday, 



226 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

and I cannot believe that we have been here a 
whole week. Miss Curtis will be leaving us soon, 
and then we will all be left to amuse ourselves. 
Yesterday she suggested that we should each 
tell all we could about our homes, families, and 
she and Miss Sturgis proceeded. They were too 
funny. They had to correct each other all the 
time, and, of course, they each know all about 
the other's relations. They kept it up for a 
couple of hours, giving us the most minute de- 
tails about the sisters and brothers, and also 
describing the insides of their town and country 
houses! It was such fun, we enjoyed it thor- 
oughly. To-day Rootie, Miss Buchanan, and I 
tell about our folks. I just have to laugh when 
I think of how I will describe the Green House 
which is so beautiful when you learn to appreci- 
ate it, but, from a purely architectural point of 
view, is not perfect! Also 378! Never mind, I 
am just waiting to have them all down to Marion 
some day, and to show them what a wonderful 
family I have, and to give them a sail that will 
make them all jealous the rest of their lives. I 
feel as if I were more or less equipped to tell 
about the Roots, and I guess that Rootie feels 
the same about us, so I suppose we will be able 
to supplement each other's story. 
We have discovered another attraction to this 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 227 

villa! Out in a very dirty and unattractive- 
looking henyard, which Miss Curtis wanted to 
investigate, we found a box covered with wire, 
and with five or six of the dearest little rabbits 
you ever saw. They are quite tame and allowed 
us to hold them for a long time, just cuddling 
down on our necks, all warm and so soft! I am 
happy now, for I have a pet to play with. I ad- 
mit that we need a dog, but that does not seem 
to be practicable just now, so the bunnies will 
have to do. 

Luncheon is almost ready, and I plainly see 
that to be popular I had better stop this noise. 
I will write you again soon, and tell you more 
about how perfectly lovely it is here. Until then 
don't worry about me not having a good rest and 
a splendid time, for I am. I have already plans 
as to what a lot more work Rootie and I can do 
this winter, now that we will be the oldest work- 
ers — not in years, but in time. Lots and lots 
of love to all. You have none of you said whether 
you liked or even read my letter about going up 
to the front. I sent it by Ibby with the pictures 
and relics for Josey. 

Lots and lots of love from 

Yom: daughter, 

Marje. 



XXIII 

FROM ESTHER 

Villa ValSrie, Vol AndrS, Cotes-du-Nord, 
Sunday morning, August 26. 

Deaeest Family: — 

Last week I let time and the postman creep 
up on me so that I did n't have time to write, 
but I hope from my meager notes you have been 
able to get some sort of an idea of Val Andre and 
of our household here. It has been a month of 
glorious weather, with such clouds and shadows 
as I never saw before I had a paint-box. The 
cliffs are high and rounded, covered with gorse, 
thistles, and other wild flowers. They drop 
steeply down to a rocky base, and then smooth 
away in a glorious beach. Val Andre and the 
headlands just to the north form a sort of ace of 
clubs, with beaches in between. The big popular 
beach, edged by pink and turquoise bathing- 
houses and high-shouldered stone villas, we shun 
consistently. In the afternoon it is rather lovely 
to watch the ever-active little French children, 
barelegged and nimble, build sand-castles to 
stand on triumphantly until the incoming tide 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 229 

has flattened out their afternoon's work. The 
dark-haired bonnes sit in groups on camp-chairs 
and sew as they gossip, and here and there a 
deeply veiled mother makes a dark note as she 
sits quietly in the shade of a brilliantly striped 
awning. 

There is a military hospital in an old convent 
on the main road, and the convalescents wander 
around, or lean out of the windows. These and 
the occasional permissionnaires are the only 
close reminders of the war that we have. The 
beautiful rolling wheat-fields behind our villa 
are cultivated by women, and it makes my back 
ache to watch them lean over, hour after hour, 
their sunburned hands making heavy bundles 
of wheat. 

We have spent two or three glorious nights in 
a favorite hollow on the hillside, just at the top 
of the highest falaise. We put the two big hold- 
alls on the ground, then a coat, then ourselves, 
then blankets. You never saw such stars. 
Early in that first morning we heard voices 
down on the beach below, and saw the fisher- 
women with their lanterns taking fish out of big 
nets stretched on the sand. 

Then the dawn came, and a pink and lavender 
and yellow sunrise. We sat up on our elbows 
and watched. The sand was wet, and the grass 



2S0 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

about us covered with dew. The light comes so 
subtly. 

We didn't wake again untU after eight. 
Marje and I scrambled down the cliff and had a 
delicious swim. The water was a clear emerald 
and the foam as white as white! 

We have had a glorious time with Miss Curtis 
— Aunt Midge, as we call her. The daughter 
of the family with whom she and Miss Sturgis 
have lived. Mile. Griette, came on Thursday and 
makes a fascinating sixth to our party. Her 
father was president of the College de France 
and a well-known man. She is cultured to a 
degree, about twenty-four, and simply charm- 
ing. She understands English perfectly, — her 
knowledge of English literature puts Marje and 
me to shame, — yet she hates to speak a word. 
In consequence, we speak English and she 
French, and the effect is sometimes joyous in the 
extreme. 

Yesterday afternoon we went crabbing. Some 
of the costumes had to be improvised, and I'll 
describe no more minutely than to say that they 
ranged from simplest in-wading to full bathing- 
suits. It is wild sport, especially if you are par- 
ticularly fond of crab-meat with mayonnaise, 
and yet your fingers have a natural timidity! 

Tableau of Marje and Mile. Griette kneel- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 231 

ing on slippery seaweed, prettily reflected in a 
pool. 

"By golly, there goes one!" 

"Om est-ce?" 

*'0h, a big green one. Look under that rock, 
I bet he's — " 

*'Zut! II s'est Schappe — sale betel!'* 

"Not on your tintype — not while Sister 
Marje has a say-so — I 've got my finger in the 
small of his back; you hold him while I get the 
net." 

"OA, mats, en void un plus grand! Ou vas- 
tu, mon vieux? Oh, Oh, il me tient! Oh, Id, Id! 
— II manque de charme, celui-ci — enfin qa 
est*' — etc., etc. 

For two hours we splashed around, chasing 
and pouncing and yelling, and got in all sixteen 
crabs — some whoppers. Then we took a lus- 
cious swim in the clear sunlit water. 

This mixture of dolce far niente and a lark is 
going to put us in fine trim for the fall work. 
Don't forget, Father, you're going to get some 
confiding editor or journalist to send me to the 
devastated towns? 

Love, 

Esther. 



XXIV 

FROM ESTHER 

Seplemh&r 4, 1917. 

Dearest Mother: — 

The cable came yesterday afternoon and 
caused a great stir in this little menage, I can 
tell you. I hope to go to the Embassy to-day 
and get my papers through. Father was a dear 
to accomplish my wish. I'm grateful; but so ex- 
cited that I'm shaky, and what did I have to do 
this morning but run into a taxicab, and we've 
spent hours writing a formal statement to the 
insurance companies in both French and Eng- 
lish; and I only broke one spoke of his wheel, but 
it is too embetant for words. We have to send 
them notice within twenty-four hours and I 
don't want that taxi-driver to have a show at 
making a fuss. 

Mrs. Shurtleff finally got a laisser-passer to 
go to the evacuated villages with clothes for the 
people left there, and she and Miss Curtis left 
Friday in the jitney. Miss Curtis has lent us her 
Ford touring-car until her return, and, believe 
me, we have hardly let the engine cool off. Sat- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 233 

urday afternoon we did shopping, and it was 
such a joy to be able to go about from place to 
place in the heat without having to think of 
taxis or walking or anything. I asked Miss Hub- 
bard where to get a nice dress. The only thing 
I have to wear is the old blue-and-tan, and its 
clutch on life is weakening visibly. The lace and 
net are torn to shreds, the sleeves that I put in 
last spring are hanging by a thread, and Leo has 
nothing on it for spots. 

Well, she told me to go to Jenny, she being 
the least expensive of all the good places. I said, 
*' How much do you suppose the cheapest little 
frock would be.^^ " and she said, "Oh, of course, 
she does n't touch anything under seven hundred 
francs — but they wear forever, and it would be 
wonderful for our business." "I guess it would 
be death on mine," I told her, and I should have 
to hear more directly from headquarters before 
any such altruistic venture. After the war, I'd 
just like to get something wonderful, but not for 
now, unless Father wants me to! 

So Marje and I went modestly to the Prin- 
temps, and having decided that our pet aver- 
sions were bottle green and elbow sleeves, we 
bought dresses, exactly alike, with those two fea- 
tures as keynotes. We simply had to have some- 
thing for a dinner to-morrow night, and really 



234 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

they're not bad. We'll have some one take 
our pictures together. Then Saturday evening 
we had dinner together downtown, and went 
out to Saint-Germain. I never felt such heat. 
We got to our beloved Mme. Poitier's where I 
stayed when I was ill, and she said that she had 
received our telegram too late and that all she 
had was a single room under the roof. You can't 
imagine how hot it was. We laughed our heads 
off because, of course, our rooms in Paris are 
nearly always cool. But we bunked as well as 
we could. I spent half the night on the floor with 
one pillow lying on a strip of oilcloth which was 
the coolest thing in sight. We had boiled eggs 
for breakfast, which made up amply for any 
discomfort. 

We read and slept and explored the lovely cool 
forest on Sunday, so different now from the last 
week of April. 

Monday evening we met Mrs. Allen and Mary 
and had a picnic supper in the wild part of the 
Bois de Boulogne on the banks of the Seine. We 
had an awfully good time — a beautiful evening 
and luscious cheese and guava jelly that Miss 
Curtis and Miss Sturgis gave me on my birthday. 

Last night Marje took Miss Sturgis and me to 
Armenonville for dinner; the swellest place right 
in the Bois, with all the officers and their fine 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 235 

friends of the bonton there, eating melon at five 
francs a sHce. We had a great time — we saw 
several American oflBcers tramp in, among them 
Andre de Coppet. He nearly fell over when he 
saw me. We had quite a chat about his coming 
over at the last moment as interpreter. 

More nice young boys are wending their way 
Parisward — and in particular to Place Denfert- 
Rochereau. Davis Ripley made a long call the 
other afternoon with a Harvard coeval; and a 
letter of introduction from Mrs. Hastings this 
afternoon presents a Holyoke youth. People 
keep coming from Boston to see Marje, and we 
are kept pretty busy. 

I started this on the way to work this morning 
and could n't finish. Now we have finished work 
and it is tea-time. We have been taking turns 
driving around wet, slippery streets making 
calls, and Marje is calling me to tea and the 
remains of the guava. 

Your letters have been most interesting lately 
and my next ought to be so! 

Love, 

Esther. 



XXV 

FROM ESTHER 

September 9, 1917. 

Dearest Father: — 

I've been there! Past the sentries, through 
the devastated villages, right into the army zone. 

How many pictures I've seen marked, "Some- 
where in France," or, "Results of German 
Shells," How endlessly have I pored over Sun- 
day supplements or watched miles of film click 
by, trying always to imagine myself really stand- 
ing on French soil, seeing real things. But the 
pictures were always just black and white, and I 
never managed to step into them. 

The refugees at the Vestiaire tell vivid stories, 
and they all have that inborn dramatic instinct 
which can make live the scenes they describe. 
But even from their background I had no idea 
of the look and atmosphere of the ruined towns 
as they now are. No one ever told me that the 
trenches taken from the Germans a few months 
ago would now be half hidden by long grass and 
brilliant red poppies, nor that the summer sun- 
shine could ever soften the grimness of barbed 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 237 

wire and dug-outs. Yesterday I saw for my- 
self. 

Compiegne is the sentinel to the "zone des 
armees." At the railroad station you must pre- 
sent your sauf-conduit before you go through 
the gate, and frown as you do so, for certainly 
the official will frown at you. The streets are 
full of soldiers and officers, blue with them, and 
great military trucks grind past at every turn. 
Even the churchyard is filled with lines of mili- 
tary wagons, and horses were tethered at its 
portals. 

We arranged to have a bite to eat at the hotel, 
and I, for one, was surprised at the naturalness 
and comfort of the atmosphere. One of us, after 
standing at the elevator shaft several minutes, 
turned to the manager of the hotel and asked if 
she would have long to wait. "I hope not, Ma- 
dame," he said, — "just until the end of the 
war." 

As we ate our luncheon we looked from the 
dining- window across the big square to the pal- 
ace, now used as military headquarters. The 
sentries passed and repassed with their heavy 
guns before the entrance gate. 

Our military cars, painted dull gray with the 
numbers in white across the wind shield, were 
waiting to take us on our wonderful journey. 



238 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

As we left the narrow streets of Compiegne, we 
passed several motors bearing important-looking 
ofl&cers going to or from the front; they tore 
around corners in just my idea of a warlike way 
— very little gold braid, but business-like and 
grim. 

The country was lovely: rolling fields, and 
deep woods, rich with foliage. My idea of a 
devastated region had been a large plain, cov- 
ered with small ruined villages, blackened by 
smoke. I had pictured everything bare and 
muddy — no grass, lowering clouds; but here 
was blazing sunlight, and such grass and flowers 
as I had never seen. 

At Noyon we were joined by a French lieu- 
tenant, who acted as guide to us, and was High 
Mogul to all guards and officials along our route. 
He looked skeptical of a party of women, even 
Americans (who are known to be wild), tearing 
along on the roads where only soldiers, trucks, 
and beasts of burden are seen. 

The crops interested me very much. Large 
fields of wheat and barley, as well as trim lines 
of lettuce and garden truck, were on each side 
of the road near every settlement. I asked who 
planted them. "Different people," said our 
lieutenant; "the people who have been living 
here right along under the Germans, the soldiers 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 239 

who delivered the territory last March, the civil 
population who came back to their homes when 
the Boches were driven out." 

Until March 18th, the Germans held French 
territory up to the line passing through Ros- 
sieres, Andrehy, Lassigny, Ribecourt, and Sois- 
sons. They retreated on that date, and the pres- 
ent line passes just west of Saint-Quentin, La 
Fere, and Baresis. Our route was a big circle 
through the section between these lines among 
the towns most lately relinquished by the in- 
vader. 

I felt reluctant to be whisked along so fast, for 
I wanted to see just how these bridges had been 
blown up. I wanted to ask that old man over 
there, hoeing in the field with a tiny little girl 
beside him in a black apron, what he had seen 
and felt, and how he liked the Boches. But we 
seemed always to keep tlie same pace. 

At Chauny we slowed up, however. We 
passed down an aisle of ruins, and stopped in a 
big square. We were told: "They are shelling 
the town, so that you run a risk if you stop here, 
but they seem to be lazy to-day, so don't worry." 
I was so glad to get out of the car and wander 
around according to my fancy, that I did n't 
give a thought to the possibility of shells. And I 
could n't see why they should want to keep on 



mo OVER PERISCOPE POND 

firing, as there did n't seem much more to do to 
the place. I stood at first and looked about me. 
Not one roof to be seen — just walls, and not 
more than one or two stories of these. Nothing 
horizontal — just the perpendicular skeletons of 
buildings, and piles, piles, piles of stone in be- 
tween. 

The streets have been cleared of rubbish, by 
the French, so that the square or "place" looked 
as neat and ready for market-day as though 
the market-women might come at any moment 
with their pushcarts, station themselves in the 
center, and display piles of carrots, cherries, po- 
tatoes, and radishes to tempt the passing throng. 

But the passing throng had passed somewhere 
else. We saw nobody. On one side was a wall 
marked "Theatre" — just the front of it left, 
all the rest ruins. Across the square was a large 
building with "Palais de Justice" carved over 
the portal, portions of the front ripped away so 
that we could see the different rooms and cen- 
tral staircase leading up, and up, to nothing. 

Down the cobbled streets which radiated from 
the square were the remains of the shops and 
homes of the people of Chauny. Ruins every- 
where. The houses had evidently been blown up 
from within, causing the roofs and floors to fall 
in a heap into the cellar, so that it was difficult to 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 241 

walk in and look about. The town has, of course, 
been shelled as well as mined; the Germans were 
determined to wipe it out completely, so that the 
iron and sugar industries which made Chauny 
well known may never be resumed. 

The strangest kind of things would be ly- 
ing in the piles of debris — an iron bedstead, 
twisted and red with rust, an old baby carriage, 
a boot, a candlestick, all sorts of little domestic 
things. In many houses the tiled fireplaces were 
intact, and stood up among all the wreckage. 
Our lieutenant climbed into one of the houses 
and brought back a few tiles which he gave us. 
Mine is a heavenly turquoise blue, smooth and 
perfect. It is the one relic that I cared to keep. 
I prefer it to a charred brick or a bent piece of 
iron. It was there in its place in the war, during 
the burning and pillaging, and weathered the 
bombs and the shells. 

Through the back windows were vistas of 
grass and trees. I saw an enchanting ravine 
with a stony brook running through it, and gar- 
dens, full of rank grass and weeds. Here and 
there a holly bush looked about in surprise at 
being so neglected this year. 

The church in Chauny is only half destroyed. 
Most of the roof has been blown up, and the 
west end of the nave is piled high with wreckage, 



242 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

but the altar is untouched and there is enough 
roof left to shelter about ten rows of seats. A 
rough partition of wood and tarred paper has 
been built across the middle of the church, which 
divides the piles of broken stone, open to the blaz- 
ing sunlight, from the altar half hidden and dim. 

It was very quiet. I heard a bird chirping 
near by, and saw two sparrows fly through an 
opening and perch on a cornice over the cross. 
There is not much left in Chauny even for a bird. 

The road leading north runs beside an em- 
bankment high enough to screen a motor from 
view. Where this embankment stops, a huge 
screen has been built of boughs woven in and 
out of a wire foundation; thus the road is hid- 
den for miles, and military trucks, ammunition 
trains, themselves "camoufles," pass to and fro 
unobserved. 

Near Villquiers-Aumont we began to see the 
cut-down fruit trees: I don't know whether to 
say fields of fruit trees, or orchards; for what we 
saw were rolling green fields, with fruit trees ly- 
ing prone in even rows, their naked branches — 

"Bare, ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang " 

— ruined carefully and deliberately. 

We stopped near an abrupt little hill. It 
looked like a giant thimble, with a rustic sum- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 243 

mer-house on top. This was once Prince Eitel 
Friedrich's lookout, and as we climbed up the 
carefully made stone steps, we saw more and 
more of the wonderful view he had chosen. 
French landscapes stretched away on every side, 
smooth fields, winding roads, and poplars. The 
group of poilus who were stationed in the look- 
out gave us a gay welcome. They were ready 
with information about the surrounding coun- 
tryside, and pointed out the various villages in 
the distance. The officer in charge lent us his 
field-glasses and showed us to the north the 
spires of the cathedral at Saint-Quentin — still 
held by the Boches. 

We took a detour in order to see the grave of 
Sergeant McConnell, the American aviator who 
was killed last spring. A French flag and two 
American flags nailed to a wooden cross mark 
the grave; fifty yards away are a few splinters 
of iron and wood, the remains of his aeroplane, 
which indicate the spot where he fell. Some 
splinters of wood, some rusty bits of iron, part of 
the engine, are all that is left of his aeroplane. 
As I looked back towards the grave I saw our 
soldier chauffeur stooping to place a bunch of 
wild poppies below the flags. He walked back to 
his place at the wheel without knowing that I 
had seen him. It was a small thing, but I felt 



244 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

grateful to the American who had made a simple 
Frenchman wish to pay this tribute. I felt, too, a 
warm pride to think of this corner of a foreign 
field (to paraphrase Rupert Brooke) that is for- 
ever America! 

We went next to Flavy-le-Martel. This town 
is half ruined and is inhabited only by soldiers. 
The great sight is a ruined factory, which is now 
a grotesque pile of rubbish — wheels and boil- 
ers and chimneys; the mass of broken stone and 
twisted iron is heaped to an immense height and 
in extent it looked to one like an acre of pure 
destruction. 

Suddenly we heard discomforting sounds — 
guns, big guns, and not very far away. The en- 
trance gate to the factory had been locked and 
barred with a sign, "No Admittance," in large 
letters, and we had to enter through a hole in 
the fence, but certainly that could n't mean that 
we were doing anything dangerous ? One of the 
soldiers working near by motioned upwards, and 
we caught sight of a Boche aeroplane disappear- 
ing in a big white cloud — lesser white clouds 
kept multiplying as the French anti-aircraft 
guns fired on. Each shot sounded like hitting a 
barn door with a baseball — only fifty times as 
loud. I was all for standing with my neck craned 
waiting to see what would happen next, but the 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 245 

soldiers gave one laconic look (if a look can 
be laconic) at the signs in the heavens, and 
walked off to the "abri" or shelter. Our lieuten- 
ant asked us to follow, so down we plunged into 
a little cellar-like place after the soldiers. 

"Five men were wounded here yesterday by 
pieces of flying shell," said one of them; "so, 
Mon Dieu! it is not worth the trouble to make 
one's self a target to-day." 

That seemed sensible enough, but it had never 
occurred to me that anything would ever come 
down and hit me. I 'm not a soldier, I 'm not even 
French, and everything about the front has al- 
ways been a name to me until now. What am I 
usually doing the first week in July? I 'm helping 
the kids set off firecrackers down on the beach 
— on a good old American beach; or getting 
the mail at the post-office to read the latest war 
news. Zum-zum! and here I am crouched down 
in an abri with some poilus, and a German bi- 
plane a mile in the air straight over my head. 
Would n't it be funny if — I wonder how thick 
the roof of this place is, anyway? Zwm, zuMy 
zum! How foolish to drop bombs on a place that 
is destroyed, anyway. 

The firing became less frequent and the ex- 
plosions farther off. We climbed out to the 
great outdoors again, and looked around. Noth- 



246 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

ing to be seen or heard. Just as we started off, a 
last zum! and a fleeting glimpse of the Boche 
disappeared gayly into a cloud. That was a week 
ago; I'm wondering if they have got him by 
now. 

Along the road on the way to Ham were rows 
of neat little brick and stone houses, so unlike 
anything I had seen that their very neatness 
looked strange. "The soldiers have already be- 
gun rebuilding," said the lieutenant. And they 
have done well, may I add; the architecture is of 
an unimaginative, cubelike variety, but a touch 
of poetry is supplied by the white muslin cur- 
tains and climbing nasturtiums! The soldiers, 
working with sleeves rolled up and with gor- 
geous red sashes round their waists, smiled and 
waved as we passed, and if we had slowed down 
who knows but that we should have had an in- 
vitation to tea; with a Boche avion only just lost 
from view. 

It was an interesting road all the way. We 
met a priest trotting comfortably down the 
road on a fat chestnut mare. His gown fluttered 
and his beads swung by his side in time to the 
horse's gait. We all felt included in his smile as 
he lifted his shallow-crowned, wide-brimmed hat 
in greeting; we Americans bowed, the militaires 
saluted inflexibly. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 247 

Next we saw — or rather were stopped by — 
a herd of cows. They looked utterly peaceful 
and oblivious, and along with the window cur- 
tains and nasturtiums that we had just seen 
on leaving Flavy-le-Martel, they seemed to give 
hope that the forlorn shells of houses might one 
day become homes again. I asked our lieuten- 
ant what the enemy had done with the cattle 
that they had found when they came. He an- 
swered, smiling broadly, "Zay ett heem!" 

Ham is interesting chiefly for its ancient cha- 
teau. The town itself is only partially destroyed, 
and there are at the moment fifteen hundred 
and thirty civilians living there. We got out of 
the motor by the bank of the canal, and looked 
first at the havoc wrought to it and the bridges. 
The sides have been blown up and great masses 
of stone have fallen into the ditch stopping up 
the deepest part of it. Rude wooden bridges 
have been built to replace the stone ones and to 
carry the traffic of trucks and military cars that 
are constantly passing. The trees that once 
stood in even rows along the banks have totally 
disappeared. Not a stump is left. 

The canal widens just south of the main road, 
and begins to have the aspect of a stone quarry. 
There is a vast area of broken stone; groups of 
workmen applying themselves with pick and 



248 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

shovel; iron cars drawn by mules moving here 
and there; and the noise of incessant labor. 
Across the excavation stands a great wall, fifty 
feet high, split down the middle as though by a 
stroke of lightning. Over the top you can just 
see the tower, with a pointed slate roof. 

" But where 's the chateau ? " some one asked. 

"Levoila," said our guide. 

Oh, the hours of labor that must be put in to 
restore what was once buUt so carefully. New 
trees will be planted, but the chateau can never 
be replaced. It's all unspeakable! 

Just as we turned to take the road to Nesle (I 
never can be reconciled to pronouncing it "Nell" 
in view of neslerode pudding), I saw a storm- 
beaten signpost reading, " Saint-Quentin, 8 kilo- 
metres" — just as though you could go there! I 
wonder just how soon one would be killed if she 
tried it .5* 

As we drew near to Nesle we saw a sign by the 
road in English! Near a little bridge the warn- 
ing, "Look Out — no truck over 17 tons," was 
posted. Magic language! There were only one 
or two Tommies about, but it was thrilling to be 
in a town that had been captured and occupied 
by the English. Along the road I had seen in 
several places signs reading, "Sens obligatoire " ; 
translated literally this means "direction obli- 



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OVER PERISCOPE POND 249 

gatory." We should say, "one-way street." On 
a house standing in the middle of a trim field 
was painted, "Tipperary — Sens Obligatoire!" 

We walked through the graveyard at Nesle, 
where French, English, and Germans are bur- 
ied side by side. The soldiers' graves of all na- 
tions are nearly alike — plain wooden crosses 
bearing the name and regiment in black paint. 
They contrast strangely with the marble tombs 
and mausoleums decorated with colored bead 
wreaths, erected before the war. 

A few of the German graves are more elabo- 
rate, flamboyant even. One monument in par- 
ticular was a large sculptured plaster affair, de- 
picting a German soldier against a background 
of burning houses, being crowned by an angel. 
Across the burning vUlage scene a scornful 
French hand has scratched the words, "Came- 
lotte Boche!" (Boche rubbish!) 

It is amusing to see German prisoners at work 
repairing the damage they have done, rebuilding 
roads and bridges and canals. They make excel- 
lent workmen and seem content with their lot. 
A gray-clad figure, wearing the round fatigue 
cap with the red band around it, was mending 
a roof as we passed. He may well have set the 
bomb that was meant to level the house to the 
ground; but all the same he never turned his 



250 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

round face towards us, or missed a stroke of his 
hammer in his apparent ejffort to make it bomb- 
proof in the future. 

The city of Roye presents a new phase of 
destruction. Outwardly it looks normal enough, 
with the exception of the fine church and a 
few important buildings which are in ruins. But 
it is all a brick shell of what was once a city. 
The Germans have played a grisly joke on the 
inhabitants, who, when they return to their 
houses, discover the same old outside but the 
inside gone. 

Each house has been systematically denuded 
of everything — furniture, decorations, glass, 
metals, tools, etc., and then the interior blown 
up. In the shops all the goods were emptied 
from the shelves on to the floor and then the roof 
exploded. Not a pane of glass, not a lighting 
fixture, not a lock or key, remains. The cost to 
the Germans in time and money alone must have 
been enormous. 

I wandered around by myself exploring fur- 
ther these streets of hollow mockery. A woman 
was standing in the doorway of a shop, gazing 
curiously to see an untamed American behaving 
as if at home. We exchanged "Bon jours," and 
I begged permission to step into her shop while 
I changed a film in my kodak. The place was 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 251 

bare, save for a few bicycle tires and tools piled 
on the counter, and these the woman told me 
she and her husband had buried when they 
were driven out nearly three years ago. The 
husband had been mobilized, and she, fortu- 
nately, had been able to go to relatives in the 
Midi. 

"Goo!" came to me from the dark recesses of 
a perambulator, and there was a bouncing baby, 
born since the war. The woman came back six 
weeks ago, having heard that her shop was safe. 
She did not seem to be disheartened by the mu- 
tilation of her property and the loss of her stock, 
and has already tried to start in business again 
by selling odds and ends to the soldiers and few 
civilians who have returned like herself. "Mais 
que voulez-vous.'* Business does n't go very well 
these days." I smiled. Competition may be the 
life of trade, but customers are pretty handy to 
keep it going. 

I wished her au revoir, and told her I 'd come 
back some day when her shop is rebuilt and she 
is doing more flourishing business than ever be- 
fore. 

Beyond Roye about eight kilometres, " as the 
shell flies," the old first-line German trenches 
can be seen from the road. Barbed-wire en- 
tanglements stretch away to left and right, half 



252 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

hidden in the grass, and dug-outs covered by 
heavy logs occur at intervals. Where the 
trenches began to run along close to the road, 
we left the motors and climbed down among the 
narrow, rustic walks that are trenches. The 
floors and walls are made of small boughs nailed 
nearly one inch apart, and the depth of the 
trenches is a little over six feet. They turn and 
twist unbelievably — apparently following the 
track of a spotted snake with a tummy-ache; 
and communication trenches, "boyaux," fork 
off every fifty feet or so, making a network of 
passages. 

I saw a tube of iron with a star-shaped end 
which interested me; the lieutenant hastily 
called out that it was a hand grenade. I had read 
too many war stories to be inclined to have any- 
thing more to do with it, so I passed obediently 
by; the next minute I caught my foot in some in- 
fernal machine and my heart leaped as I wildly 
clutched at the sides of the trench for support. 
It was a twisted bedspring. 

Near by was an opening twenty-five feet 
square with dug-outs along the edge, where oflfi- 
cers evidently lived. There was a rustic table 
under a lattice-trimmed shelter, and a flight of 
birch steps led to the sleeping quarters! 

The lavish grass and flowers constantly im- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 253 

pressed me. Around the trenches up to the very 
edges of the shell holes, over the famous strip 
called "No Man's Land," grows to-day a gor- 
geous carpet of green grass and wild flowers. I 
like to think that Nature has already begun to 
heal the scars of war. 

A little village called Suzoy is already known 
for some rough paintings left on the walls of the 
main schoolroom, by the Germans. We stopped 
at the building and followed two little girls 
through the entrance; they showed us the pic- 
tures with pride; and for my part, I assure you, 
what met our eyes were the most astonishing 
mural decorations you ever saw. 

Two naked figures, half man, half beast, sit 
opposite each other with faces turned to wink 
at you. They have horns and tails and the un- 
mistakable Boche cap on their heads. Between 
them is a roaring fire on which they expect with 
relish to fry their supper. In their hands are two 
great peacock feathers which cross and make 
graceful crescents along the length of the wall. 
On the feathers are poised — or endeavor to be 
poised — miniature figures of the heads of the 
Allied nations. President Poincare, in frock coat 
and stovepipe hat, is trying frantically to keep 
his balance; King George V is sprawling and 
just ready to fall; King Albert is hanging on 



254 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

desperately by one hand; and the Czar, in er- 
mine robes, is trying wildly to hold on to his 
crown and keep his equilibrium at the same time. 
The other kings are all awkwardly trying to 
keep from dropping off.| In the center, directly 
over the flame is a whimsical Scotch lad, play- 
ing his swan-song on a bagpige. And always 
the big Boches leer diabolically. 

The effect on me was at first to make me 
laugh, and then to make me rage. So cock-sure, 
so clever, so insulting! There were other carica- 
tures on the side walls, medallion portraits of 
George V and Poincare, but nothing so subtle 
as the big painting. 

The little girls, who had stayed in the village 
throughout the German occupation, told us that 
the schoolroom was used as an officers' mess, 
and that there used to be a great many soirees 
there. It had taken a month to paint these mod- 
ern frescoes, and the children had been allowed 
to watch the artist work. 

"Were the Boches nice to you?" I asked one 
of them. 

"Oh, yes, fairly — assez gentils; they taught 
us a little German, but we never speak it now." 

"Did you have enough to eat.''" 

"But yes, food was brought to us every week 
by the Americans." 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 255 

"Mademoiselle is American," put in the 
lieutenant. 

"Tiens!" said the little girl, and grew too 
bashful to speak. 

"We should have died but for the Americans," 
she said at last, looking down at her apron. 

"You had rice and vegetables, I suppose. Did 
you ever have meat and eggs?" And I confess 
that for "eggs" I said, not "uh," but "uffe." 
The other child began to giggle. 

"Tais-toi," exclaimed my little friend quickly. 
"Did n't you just hear that the lady is Ameri- 
can?" 

It might be hard to express thanks, but not 
while she was about should Americans be made 
fun of. 

On our homeward journey I saw things that 
simply did not exist to my eyes earlier in the 
day. The country around Bailly is full of 
trenches and barbed wire, dug-outs, shell holes, 
and shade trees cut down by the road, all of 
which escaped me before I had had those jfive 
full hours of tense observation; and just as I did 
not at first distinguish the signs of war, so I did 
not fully consider until afterward the complete- 
ness of the destruction we had seen. In the 
section of forty miles square that we skirted, 
not one bridge is left — the only ones now in 



256 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

existence are of temporary military construction. 
The same is true of telephone and telegraph 
poles — not one remains. Also there is not a 
stick of furniture of any sort except what was 
too heavy to be taken away, such as pulpits and 
big tables, which were hacked to pieces and are 
of no value now. That the furniture was not 
blown up with the houses I am sure, for not a 
piece can be found in the ruins, and I looked 
carefully for any trace. Germany must be full 
of French furniture, and what it is all wanted 
for I can't imagine. 

It is wonderful what vistas can be thrown 
open by the experiences of one day. I never 
again can hear of any one who comes from 
Chauny or Roye or Lassigny without seeing row 
upon row of deserted, ruined houses. I never 
can hear of a fortune lost in the war without 
picturing the ruined sugar factory at Flavy-le- 
Martel. And yet the sight of men and mules and 
engines clearing out the canal at Ham is more 
significant than either of these, for it means 
that the energy which once built the cities of 
France is deathless. A new beginning is being 
made within sound of the guns; and we are help- 
ing. We are helping!! 

Esther. 



XXVI 

FROM MARJORIE 

September 12, 1917. 

Dearest Family: — 

You could never guess where I am, nor what I 
am doing! I am just this minute the guest of 
Mme. la Marquise Molinari d'Incisa, in a large 
chS,teau in Touraine. The other week-end guests 
— it being Monday to-day — consist of Mrs. W. 
and her daughter, Mrs. H. Mile, la Forgue, 
whom I have written you about before, and who 
has been so nice to me in Paris, and her brother 
of seventeen, Mme. Molinari, and Rootie and 
myself make up the party! Needless to say, 
Rootie got me into this. I bucked and balked 
and tried not to come, but I am here. We met 
Mme. Molinari at Dr. Shurtlefl's funeral, and 
she wanted to know what we were doing, and 
whether we would like to come down to Touraine 
and see her. She had a chateau for the month 
which belongs to the W s, who are in Amer- 
ica! We more or less jokingly, on my part at 
any rate, accepted, and she said of course that 
there was nobody to keep her company, so we 
would be quite free, and could wear old clothes. 



258 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

and so forth. The next thing I knew, Rootie had 
accepted definitely, and we were to start from 
Paris Monday a.m., having arrived from Val 
Andre via Saint-Michel the Saturday before. 
Start we did ! I fortunately darned my only silk 
stockings, and had my sole white skirt laun- 
dered, and my beautiful blue linen one also put 
in order. We left Paris at ten o'clock, and met 
the La Forgues on the train, which was a shock 
to us. They told us they thought there were 
other guests already there ! Half-way down, we 
changed at Vierjon, and when we got off the 
train (we were in uniform, of course), we heard 
English-speaking voices calling us, and on turn- 
ing saw several American soldiers. We waved 
vigorously and went on, but were stopped by 
two of them running up and taking off their 
hats, offering their hands, and saying, "Do you 
folks speak English?" On our replying that we 
did, they let a yell, and calling their pals an- 
nounced that they had "caught 'em, and you 
bet they can talk the lingo ! " We were instantly 
surrounded, and our baggage taken from us, and 
we were led like queens to a compartment and 
sat on the seat while they lined up opposite and 
shot questions at us as fast as they could talk! 
I never had such fun. Of course. Mile, la Forgue 
thought that we were quite mad, and a bit un- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 259 

ladylike, I guess, but do you know I did n't care 
at all. They were nice men, and they were so 
pitifully glad to hear some English! They were 
going on the same train as we were, which was 
fortunate for us, for I doubt if they would have 
let us off the train! We got more gossip as to 
what is going on in the army over here and at 
home than we would get from the papers in two 
years! They were all twelve of them volunteer 
men from the New York Telephone Company 
and the Western Union. (Their battalion con- 
sists of five hundred, of course, but these men 
were going to Saint-No j an to drive up some 
trucks.) The former are receiving their usual 
wages from the company, with their govern- 
mental pay deducted. They seemed a nice crew, 
strong, hardy fellows, and maybe they did n't 
have a time getting over here — I mean on the 
way across the ocean ! They have only been here 
a month, but they have already begun to lay 
wires from one end of the war zone to the other, 
all to communicate with Pershing's headquar- 
ters, which you probably know has been moved 
from Paris, and although I know where it is, I 
won't put it down, not so much on account of 
the censor as spies! We certainly had a good 
time. They had taken a first-class compart- 
ment, which is against all rules, for the army is 



260 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

supposed to go third class, of course, but they 
had one forty-four hours' trip in French third 
class, and have vowed never again. They could 
none of them speak French, least of all the so- 
called interpreter, but they knew how to throw 
out any one who tried to enter their compart- 
ment, and did so with joy, saying something 
about "reserve pour la armee Americaine ! '* We 
stayed with them till we arrived, and you would 
have laughed to see them with Mme. Molinari. 
We had told them that we were going to visit 
a Marquise, and I think they expected a coro- 
net and pages, and when charming Mme. M. 
stepped up and talked English with them, and 
shook hands with them, they could not believe 
that she was a title! My, it was funny! 

After we had waved them off, and wished 
them luck, we turned to the chateau. It is 
quite near the station, so a little donkey named 
Kee Kee carries the bags up, and you walk 
a short way until you enter the estate. It is 
beautiful; all shade trees, with a spring you 
have to cross on stepping-stones, and such ivy 
and bushes and flowers! There are two houses 
— the more modern larger one, which has the 
dining-room and kitchen and library and big 
bedrooms, and then the old one, dating way, 
way back, where we are, and which is charming. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 261 

The W s put all their time and money into 

the grounds and vineyards, and the houses 
are simple and are lovely outside. They are 
up against the rocks, and the barn or cellar 
with the winepress is hewn in the rock, and has 
many underground passages which lead all over 
everywhere, and you can hear the spring gurgle 
under them at certain places. There is electric 
light and most of the comforts; also several 
dogs and rabbits. The gardens run down the 
terraces in front of the big house. They are 
mostly annuals now, and there are fig trees and 
lemon trees, which supply the lemon for our 
tea! The brook comes out in all sorts of beau- 
tiful and unexpected places, and makes pools. 
There is a lovely fountain which goes all the 
time, and which we can hear from our bedroom. 
The tennis court is hidden by trees and vines, 
and had just been put in shape so that Rootie 
and Mile, la Forgue played this morning. Across 
the road is the path that leads through a tunnel 
under the railroad to the fruit garden and vine- 
yards. Such fruit ! — all the peaches trained 
in diagonal lines against a white stone and 
plaster wall, which has turned greenish from 
constant sprayings, and the plum trees bent 
to the ground with fruit, and the apples in 
rows making hedges like ours at Marion. We 



262 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

ate fruit till we could literally eat no more. 
The grapes are mostly in houses, and such lus- 
cious ones I never saw. We walked through 
just picking off huge purple muscats with their 
beautiful bloom still on them, big white ones, 
and brown — in fact every sort. Each variety 
tastes better than the one you took before! The 
flowers do not compare with yours. Mother, 
but are effective. The usual standards, lovely 
at a distance, but I can hear you saying they 
should have been de-budded! 

I was, of course, interrupted yesterday, and 
am now trying to finish while Rootie completes 
a sketch of our house, and the others get really 
dressed. We have breakfast at half -past eight, 
and some of us dress and the rest wear wrap- 
pers. As Rootie did not bring one, and had to 
borrow one which must have belonged to Mr. 

W , and mine is that pink crepe-de-chine 

affair which Ruth S made for me when I 

was at Farmington, we decided in favor of dress- 
ing for breakfast ! 

I see that I must stop, and go for a walk 
through the marvelous caves which go through 
the cliffs for miles around here, and are in part 

wine-cellars, some belonging to the W s, and 

some not. We had wine from the cellar last 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 263 

night, and it was excellent, I thought. Mme. 
Molinari is renowned even in Paris for her cui- 
sine, so you can imagine whether we are hav- 
ing a good time or not! We had hot biscuits 
for breakfast yesterday, for the first time since 
I left home, and they sure tasted good. 

We are really having a very good time, for 
we do just whatever we want to, and although 
we are not what you would call dressy, still 
we are at least clean. Rootie, having laughed 
me to scorn for bringing two waists and skirts, 
now wishes she had done the same thing herself. 
(We did not plan to stay more than twenty- 
four hours.) I am so hoping to find letters from 
both of you when I get back to Paris, for it is 
over two weeks since I got any word, although 
Rootie got a long letter from Mother! Rootie 
has been more wonderful than ever these last 
few days. She does fit in wonderfully. She is so 
very, very clever, and can do everything well, 
even playing bridge. When they get started 
on that, I retire to the library and have a 
delightful time reading everything in sight, 
and there are lots of books. Did I ask you if 
you have read *'God, the Invisible King," by 
Wells? I enjoyed it. 

Lots and lots of love to you both. 

Marje, 



XXVII 

FROM MARJORIE 

12 Place Denfert-Rochereau, Paris. 
October 21, 1917. 

Dearest Family: — 

You see I am being good this week and not 
neglecting you as I did two weeks ago. I still 
get embarrassed when I think of that time. We 
are hearing all sorts of rumors about no boats 
going for thirty days, but there is no reason to 
believe them any more than the many other 
rumors we hear all the time, so I shall keep on 
writing, anyway, and nowadays I make a car- 
bon copy of each letter that I send. It does not 
take any longer, and it seems to me to be well 
worth while. 

Things are about the same here. Very busy. 
We have finally secured the storehouse and are 
moving into it this week. The present plan is 
to have all our reserve stock there, and have 
only just enough on the shelves to meet the de- 
mands during the week. The car will go to 
the storehouse once or twice a week, and get 
the necessary things. In this way we will have 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 265 

much more room in the vestiaires themselves, 
and it will be easier to handle more people. 
We have just taken stock of our food-supply 
and find to our joy that it is considerably larger 
than we realized. This means that we can en- 
large that department, and with Rootie there it 
will be splendid, I think. I hate to let it go at 
all, and am going just the same Tuesday after- 
noons, but I know that it will soon be impos- 
sible for me to give up that much time. We 
hope to move ten families a week. This will 
mean pretty close calculations on time for all 
of us. 

It is wonderful to feel that I may be able to 
be of some real use to some one for the first 
time in my life. I have not felt so strong and 
well and so well equipped for a winter as I do 
now, for a long time. We have laid in a supply 
of coaJ and wood, and are as cozy as can be. 
I am letting many little petty time-taking jobs 
slide along to some one else, and am just saving 
myself for the furniture above everything else. 
That sounds as if I was not doing any hard 
work. I truly am. We moved all the things 
from the store we call Maggi, and which is on 
Ernest Cresson, a little farther down, over to the 
rue Daguerre storehouse, and I can tell you it 
was some job for all of us — piling the things 



266 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

in the car, and then unloading at the other end. 
Gay Kimberly's husband returned suddenly, so 
I had to run the car, as Rootie was out call- 
ing with a Red Cross man who wants to know 
the conditions of refugees living in Paris. (By 
the bye, a Maxwell car with a starter has been 
given us. I wish it was a Ford, on account of 
essence, but we must not be fussy, I suppose.) 

This morning Rootie started for church 
early, and got a bath with a friend of hers who 
lives in a hotel which still has its hot water on 
Saturday and Sunday! I was, therefore, alone 
for the morning, and after the washing was 
counted and put away, and the salon tidied, and 
the pillows, which had raveled, had been sewn, 
I decided that I was going to pretend I was 
at home; so I got dressed as if for Sunday din- 
ner at 378. I put on a nice waist and my pink 
sweater with the gray collar, which I made 
myself, and my earrings, and Aunt Sarah's 
ring. It was really lots of fun. I imagined what 
I would be doing if I was at home, and who 
would be there too. Rootie could not imagine 
what had struck me when she came in and 
found me all dressed up. 

I wonder if it would interest you to hear what 
we did for one family in the way of moving? 
Rogeau is the name. We have had them on our 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 267 

cards for quite a long time. It is a small family, 
a tuberculous man and his wife and little boy. 
We have been boarding the woman and child out 
in the country, while the man was in the hospi- 
tal. This summer the woman came in to see us 
to ask if we could possibly let her have another 
month out in the country. We were fortunately 
able to do so, and when her husband came out of 
his hospital, he joined her in Saint-Prix, where 
she was boarding, and together they have found 
a little house at twenty-two francs a month, for 
the house and garden. They will each have sep- 
arate rooms to sleep in, and the woman is most 
careful about cleaning and all that. Owing to 
our being able to give them the meuhles, they 
were able to take the house at once, and last 
week I took out to them a table, two chairs, one 
stool, plates, knives, forks, spoons, a stove, ba- 
sin, pail, dishtowels, pitcher, sheets, covers, — 
and extra nice light warm ones for the man, — 
pillow-cases, casserole, carpet, bathtowels, cof- 
feepot, small pillow for man, refuse pail, coat- 
hangers, table-cover, and candle and candlestick 
(having sent three single beds by express). With 
these few things they can begin to live, and then 
they will gradually get more. The man has a 
little forge in an out house in the garden where 
he works, and has a chair in the sun. He mends 



268 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

pails and pans. I am giving him a chaise-longue 
with Daddy's money, so that he can rest in be- 
tween spells of work. I am so hoping that the 
air and sun will rebuild him as they have others. 
You would have been as touched as I was at 
their joy at the few things we brought them. 
You see they are really beginning to have their 
home together again. This is only one of so 
many interesting cases. Having no income ex- 
cept from the little work he does, they are not 
paying us anything for the things, although lots 
of other families are paying. If it is possible, it is 
so much better for them to pay something. 

We are worried just now as to what we are 
going to do for stoves. There is a great shortage. 
And the way prices jump up from one week to 
another!! We calculated two weeks ago that 
every move costs us well over five hundred 
francs, with the beds. Now they are much more. 
Everything goes up two to three francs a week. 
Beds cost ninety francs for a double lit cage, 
with mattress and two pillows, where they used 
to be only seventy last spring. Single beds are 
fifty-nine instead of thirty-two. Stoves used to 
be fifteen to twenty-five francs new, and now we 
pay thirty for old ones and seventy for the new 
ones. Next week they are to be fifty per cent 
more, I was told. Lessiveuses are thirty-five, and 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 269 

we have had to give them up, although I hope 
to change that, and give the few big things and 
no small things, — forks and knives and all that, 
— for a family can, after all, save and buy those 
things, and they never would be able to get 

either a buffet or lessiveuse. Mrs. H pays 

twenty-five to thirty-five francs for a second- 
hand buffet now, and she used to get a big, tall, 
new one for twenty-five. All the small things 
are about a franc more, pails and all such. Linen 
is terribly dear. Fortunately, we still have some 
unbleached linen from America for the sheets. 
When it goes, I don't know what we will do. 
They want nine francs apiece for the most slimsy 
cotton sheets here. I do not quite see what is 
going to happen if things keep on getting more 
and more expensive. What will stop it all? And 
I suppose Germany is richer than ever with her 
latest gains in Russia. What is going to happen? 
Rootie says it is time to go to bed, and I guess 
she is right. Lots and lots of love. 

Your very loving daughter, 

Marje, 



XXVIII 

FROM MAEJORIE 

12 Place Denfert-Rochereau, Paris, 
November 14, 1917. 

Dearest Mother and Daddy: — 

I hope that you will not worry about our being 
cold over here this winter. We will not be. First 
place, we find that we can heat the salon very 
nicely with a wood fire, and second, we are defi- 
nitely to have our chauffage central the 15th. 
We have had hot water once already, and you 
would have laughed. You could n't see any one 
for the two days, for every one was having as 
many baths as possible. We will have the water 
right along after the heating begins. 

I went to the movies for the first time in ages 
the other night. Sydney took Dulles and myself 
and we saw an excellent show: that Jap man, 
Sessue something (I bet Josey knows), and then 
some wonderful war pictures; the Zepps that 
they brought down the other day, close up, and 
most interesting. The tremendous size of them 
was what overwhelmed me. They look like a 
whole sugar factory burned up when they are 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 271 

destroyed. It is certainly true that no nation 
but the German would or could afford to build 
them now. I wonder if the French will get any 
good ideas from the one which is not destroyed. 
The supremacy of the air seems to be the great 
hope of the Allies now. Sydney cheerfully tells 
us that the Boches have an aeroplane with six 
engines. Think of it. Also I believe that they 
have some new horrors to spring on us soon. I 
have been told by a Suisse-Frangais girl that 
they (the Germans) have had the best harvest 
they have had for years; also that their first 
Italian victory fell on one of their biggest f^te 
days, so they are sure that God is with them. No 
one that I ever see over here feels that we could 
possibly win a military victory for several years, 
and then it would be an air victory. I can hardly 
believe that the people will be able to endure an- 
other three years. Last spring was nip and tuck 
keeping the French going, and if it had n't been 
for the rushing over of those troops to march 
through the streets on the 4th of July I hate to 
think what might have happened. At least, that 
is the way it seems to me. If Italy gives in, and 
it seems possible, as there is some sort of treach- 
ery there, and Russia is quite out of it, if she is 
n't worse, — on their side, I mean, — will the 
French hang on? Lots of people feel that all this 



272 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

changing of cabinets (and we have another one 
to-day) means that Caillaux is the man who 
will be put in eventually. He is the last chance, 
as it were, and, if he is once in, it is all over, for 
he is supposed to be pro-German. Rootie has 
many friends of various grades in the army and 
navy, who blow in and out at times and fill us up 
with gossip: how the whole of America is full of 
German spies; how the new submarines carry 
three-inch guns and fight the Allied destroyers 
on equal terms as a result; how the Chemin des 
Dames offensive is completely successful; what 
they think is the reason for the complete hold-up 
of all Suisse mail and trains and many French 
ones; how many troops have gone to Italy, and 
so forth. It is more or less discouraging as a 
whole. Conditions here in Paris are about the 
same. The coal situation seems to be better 
handled. Most proprietors have been told by 
the Government that they must heat their ten- 
ants or not ask rent. There is plenty to eat still. 
Suisse chocolate is not to be had any more. 
Sugar seems to be scarce, but not as bad as last 
year. Butter and eggs are high, but one can buy 
them. The swell tea-houses are having dijQSculty 
to make their cakes, but they do just the same. 
A great deal of honey is used instead of sugar, I 
think. There were special provisions for con- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 273 

fitures being made this fall, so that I think we 
shall have all we want. There are still taxis to 
be seen about, but, although they have been re- 
stricted in what they can do to you in the way 
of flatly refusing to take you, still they can usu- 
ally manage to make it so disagreeable for you 
that you prefer to walk. Gasoline is to be very, 
very scarce even in the army, I believe, next 
month, but fortunately we have a supply on 
hand. I shall be very glad to turn over the re- 
sponsibility of the cars to H. soon, for there is 
quite a good deal to be done, and it grows more 
diflBcult to do it every day. Ford is completely 
mobilized now, and it is very difficult to have 
anything done at all. 

Rootie says that we are going to have our pic- 
tures taken, and what she says usually goes, so 
you will probably get a picture of your beautiful 
daughter in uniform. Don't you dare show it to 
a soul if you do, though. 

Rootie says to be sure to thank you very 
much for the toast-holder. We will use it a lot. 
Lots and lots of love to both of you, and all of 
you. 

Marje. 



XXIX 

FROM MARJORIE 

Paris, January 1, 1918. 

Dearest Mother and Daddy: — 

If I could only tell you in words what our 
Christmas was like I would be so happy, but 
it's dreadfully hard to. First place, your won- 
derful packages came in plenty of time, and 
were grabbed by Rootie, who informed me 
that she was running our special, extra-private 
Christmas morning celebration, and for me to 
trust her! 

We decided at the Vestiaire that we must 
have a tree for the refugee children, — our pet 
ones, at any rate, — and Mrs. Shurtleff was so 
pleased with the idea. We got a hall in the same 
building where Dr. S. used to have his meetings, 
and we had more fun decorating the tree our- 
selves, filling bags with candy which we bought 
after hours of standing in line at Potin's, and 
we gave two hundred refugee children the best 
Christmas party they ever had, I bet. We had 
a prestidigitator-man first, who was excellent, 
and who delighted the kids by getting enough 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 275 

flags out of a hat to give each child one. After 
he was through, we dropped a curtain which 
was hiding the tree, and which looked very 
gorgeous with its candles and piles of presents 
heaped around the base, and bowing and smil- 
ing in front of the tree was Pere Noel (Rootie), 
who gave each child two presents. They were 
passed cakes and candy, and even the mothers 
who were sitting around the edge of the room 
(one grown-up was allowed to each family) got 
some cake. Then, after they received their two 
gifts, which were all sorted according to ages, 
they came to the door with mothers and brothers 
and sisters and were presented with a bag of 
candy each, a Christmas card, and a muflfler, 
and were sent home. You never saw such a 
well-behaved lot of children, so clean and so 
good, and so happy. 

Monday night we went to bed early, — that 
is, I did, and Rootie sat up until all hours 
arranging things for the next day. When I woke 
up, I found that Rootie had ordered eggs for 
our breakfast, and had slipped into the other 
room and made a perfectly delicious piece of 
toast for me. We had such fun over breakfast, 
and then I was led into the next room where the 
mantelpiece was decorated with a huge clock 
with presents tied on by red ribbons. There 



276 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

was a fire and lots of presents piled in front of it! 
All this when we had said we were not giving 
any presents this year! I almost cried! We sat 
down on our little stool, and I began opening 
all your lovely things. Oh, you were much too 
good to us! The candy was and is the best in 
the world. You don't know how we pick and 
choose and save the caramels till the end only. 
Rootie always goes down three layers at once, 
just to see what is underneath! Josey's dear 
little purse and the very effective picture of 
herself and her hair and ribbon were almost too 
much. Rootie was so pleased with your thought 
of her. We just had a beautiful Christmas 
morning together, and I can tell you we thought 
pretty nice things about our families who had 
taken all the trouble for us. 

Rootie had every sort of a present for me. She 
had thought of everything that I have ever said 
I liked, or wanted to have. First place, some 
lovely little shell hairpins which are delightful. 
They fit your head so nicely. Then a lovely 
cyclamen plant; a dear little pot to hold a baby 
plant; a vase; a hearth-brush, for I get so cross 
with the one there is in the room now; a photo- 
graph of the two of us on the steps at Bourre, — 
which I believe she sent you, too, — with a calen- 
dar on it; also a calendar for the office and the 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 277 

most delightful little machine that clips papers 
together, and which I have been longing for for 
ages ! — also a drum because I have been saying 
I missed mine so: this one is about five inches 
across, and has the sticks attached, and saves 
you lots of trouble, for you use it like a watch- 
man's rattle; a beautiful laundry-bag, which is 
also much needed, and a sachet. You never saw 
such a lovely pile of things, and every one some- 
thing which I needed, and was n't she dear to 
take all that time for me ! It seems I have been 
an awful nuisance while she has been getting the 
things together, because I insisted upon coming 
home when she was preparing them. I cannot 
tell you how all her thought of me touched and 
pleased me. It was just like Rootie to do it. 

We had to go over to Miss B 's at about 

eleven, for we were all to have our Christmas 
dinner there, — all us workers, I mean. I had 
ordered everything, and was generally in charge. 

Miss B lives in a charming little studio 

which has several of her pieces of sculpture in it, 
and is very delightful, anyway. She offered it to 
us and it did seem so much more homey than a 
hotel. She has a big, unfinished marble in the 
middle of the room which T had planned in my 
mind's eye to put aside while we dined, but I 
found out it weighs tons and would have to 



278 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

have three or four men to move it, so we let it 
stay and we put our table behind it. We bor- 
rowed the table from the rue Daguerre store- 
house, and tablecloths from the ameublement; 
also chairs and glasses; and with Rootie's yellow 
saucers and Fiskie's blue ones in between, and 
fruit in the middle, we made a very efiFective 
table. 

I had ordered the whole dinner from Coute's, 
a store near by that has very good cooked things, 
and which offered to send in everything piping 
hot ready to eat. This last suggestion appealed 

to me, especially as Miss B has no gas, and 

cooks on her stove, which was built to heat, — ■ 
not to cook. Rootie having charge of the deco- 
rations fixed up the place cards prettily, and 
arranged the fruit. We were fifteen. Every one 
arrived on time, but the dinner! I began to get 
nervous at about five minutes to one, for the 
meal was ordered at 12.30, and I was afraid it 
must have gone astray. Dulles and Mile. Herzog 
volunteered to go to Coute's and try to find our 
dinner. After they had left, the brilliant thought 
occurred to me that maybe I had told them the 
wrong number of the street. It is 18, Bd. Edgar 
Quinet, 18 like the Vestiaire, but not like the 
Daguerre number, — 19, — and the more I 
thought it over the more sure I was that I had 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 279 

sent the dinner to 19! This thought did not 
cheer the company, as there is a very large ceme- 
tery opposite Miss B 's and goodness only 

knew where the number 19 might be, so I put 
on my fur coat and new hat, which is very tall, 
and therefore heavy, and started out to find 
number 19. I started slowly, but as I went 
farther and farther, I got more and more nerv- 
ous, and began to trot and then to run. I ar- 
rived in front of 19, which was an exception- 
ally shady-looking stable, bar, hardware shop, 
just in time to see Coute's boy, on one of those 
bicycle-pushcart affairs, piking down the street!! 
You have no idea of what a feeling that gave 
me. He seemed to be going fifty miles a minute, 
and with him was our whole dinner! ! I let out 
a war-whoop, and started after. That coat of 
mine which Aunty gave me is not patterned 
after a running-suit, and to say that it and my 
hat, which toppled over my eyes every minute, 
and the snow, which was just perfect for coast- 
ing, hampered me, is putting it mildly. How- 
ever, there was nothing to do but to run, so I 
ran; and after about a block (which seemed three 
to me), I attracted his attention, and also that 
of all the population of the Latin Quarter. He 
stopped and was most agreeable; said he had 
looked everywhere for the right house, but had 



280 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

found no trace. I did n't stop to argue, — I was so 
glad to see the pots and pans in that cart, — but 
I pointed out the way, and we returned trium- 
phantly to 18. I can tell you it was a close call. 
Dulles and Mile. Herzog met him on their way 
back, too, and held him up, but he had already 
left the food with us. It was delicious, in spite 
of its extra journey. Hors d'ceuvres of pates de 
fois gras; then two big golden-brown turkeys 
stuffed with marrons; mashed potatoes all yel- 
low with butter, and just the right consistency; 
peas cooked up with lettuce and sweetened just 
a little; great plates of delicious currant jelly 
(we could n't get cranberry sauce) ; a big bowl 
of celery salad; and brown gravy to go on the 
turkey. It was mighty good, I can tell you. We 
warmed things up a little while they began on 
the first course, then we shifted plates, four of 
us, like regular waiters. We had planned it all 
out beforehand, and Miss Curtis attacked the 
turkeys. She can carve like a whizz among all 
the other things that she does well. She made 
one bird go the round, and then there was 
plenty left of the second for Mrs. Shurtleff to 
take home some cold. You never saw a crowd 
enjoy their Christmas dinner more! 

We had a surprise for them next. Hannah 
and I decided that Christmas was n't Christmas 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 281 

without a plum pudding, so we scraped up three 
little already cooked plum puddings, which 
Mrs. Shurtleff had steamed for hours, Rootie 
and I gave the sugar we had saved this summer 
for a foamy sauce, and, although we cooked it 
too long, for I got so interested in eating my 
turkey that I forgot it, still it was so full of wine 
and sugar that it was delicious. We went to buy 
a little rum to burn on it, and found to our 
amusement that we must buy three big bottles, 
which we proceeded to do! (The new law re- 
quires that you buy at least two litres.) I wish 
you could see our room. It looks like a bar, for 
Mrs. Shurtleff also brought a bottle of cooking 
sherry for the sauce. Well, we poured enough 
wine on that pudding to light a half-dozen, and 
with holly in the center, it looked very gay and 
most Christmasy. Every one seemed to like it. 
Then we had Vanilla Ice-Cream and Hot 
Chocolate Sauce !! ! Regular ice-cream just 
like home, and the best I ever tasted outside of 
our house. Oh, it was good! By the time we 
had done justice to this, we were all in the state 
where we preferred to stand up! Some of them 
went to Dr. Cabot's Christmas carol party, 
where they went from hospital to hospital sing- 
ing for the blesses. I wonder how they sang! 
We certainly made enough noise, and I don't 



282 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

think any one had a homesick thought, and that 
was what we were all scared of. Miss Sturgis 
was unable to come, and we missed her terribly. 
We made up a very nice plate of cold turkey, 
salad, jelly, and breadsticks for her, and armed 
with this and some ice-cream and sauce, we all 
went down to see her. We found her with a fire 
burning, and so we all sat around and talked 

and some of them slept, and then Mr. D , 

a Red Cross man, blew in, and told us lots of 
interesting things about being on the commis- 
sion for distributing German money for the 
German prisoners in Russia the first year of the 
war, and also of his more recent experiences in 
Italy. He was one of the men sent by the Red 
Cross with so much actual cash to help out there, 
and also lay plans for the future work. He was 
very interesting. We all stayed there until it 
was time to go back to the studio for a Welsh 
rabbit. I had to laugh when Miss Curtis asked 
if I knew how to make one. I said yes without 
thinking, and then realized that all I have ever 
done was to watch you. However, you know I 
would die before I would back out, so I went 
ahead with an expert air, and gave as exact an 
imitation of you as I could. I cut about the 
same size pieces of cheese, ladled out mustard 
with the cover of the tin, just the way you do. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 283 

and poured on beer in little professional dabs, 
every once in a while. Then I stirred and 
stirred, and although it gave me heart failure 
while it passed through the gummy, stringy, 
curdly stage, still it finally emerged in a smooth 
thick state, and I hastily broke an egg into it, 
and gave it a final beating and served it. Won- 
der of wonders, they said it was O.K. ! Far be it 
from me to say it was luck! We had scrambled 
eggs, toast, and salad also, and last, but not 
least, we had "asti spumanti," Oh, it was good! 
We wanted it for dinner, but we could n't with 
the crowd, so we had it for supper. It was 
delicious. 

I was lucky enough to have to go and see 
Madame Brunschwig, who is the great big- 
hearted woman here who has done so much for 
the housing of refugees. She started on her own 
backing herself, and she is wonderful. She let 
me sit beside her from 10 until 12.30 one day, 
and listen to her interview her people. It was so 
interesting to see how a Frenchwoman does it. 
She is so sharp, never misses a thing, very clear- 
headed, kind-hearted, and has that quick, wise 
power of decision which is so characteristic of 
Mrs. ShurtleflF. It was very interesting to hear 
her say so many times just the things that I 
have heard Mrs. S. say. I feel quite sure that 



284 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

their two judgments on a case would be the 
same. I think it is well worth noting that these 
two women have done what they have without 
any social-service training; they just use their 
heads and hearts and common sense. I am not 
yet convinced that one has to go to the Boston 
School for Social Workers to be a good worker. 

The gasoline situation has been very serious 
over here lately ; the story is that the American 
Government took all the gas that came into 
France for ten days because they were getting 
short, and they would not stand for the lavish 
use of gas which had been going on. Anyway, 
they have finally stopped bons of essence for 
private cars. Miss Curtis says that she has been 
told that the English have made a fuss, too, for 
they have not had any private cars for a long, 
long time. We got ours for the work all right. 
It was reduced, but still we will have enough if 
we are careful, I believe. I have had lots of fun 
initiating Hannah into the game of "trying-to- 
get-gasoline-in-Paris." 

The pastry-shops are really to be closed, I 
guess; the American ones have been stopped 
from making any kind of cake and even corn- 
bread. We got a big chocolate cake at Rebattet's 
Saturday, but I think it is the last. I am glad of 
it, for people at home are doing so much it seems 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 285 

to me we ought to be cut down over here, too. 
I shall be especially glad if they stop all this 
bonbon-making; it must use oodles of sugar. 
(I think we have enough for a few months, and 
then we will be home.) I imagine that it is the 
American Government that has brought pres- 
sure to bear on this, and it is a good thing. 

Hannah and I saw some of the cement boats 
being built the other day, when we were out- 
side of Paris; they looked fine. Very low in the 
water, just like regular barges, but, of course, 
they must be built in a much shorter space of 
time. I wonder if they are really using them as 
much as they expected to? 

It seems to be a very critical time just now 
for the Allies. Lots of people are depressed and 
talking very gloomily. Evidently the Caillaux 
affair is pretty delicate. The English Govern- 
ment has been insulted, and it is up to the 
French to do away with the gentleman in ques- 
tion. They called the class of 1919 the day be- 
fore yesterday, and also recalled that of '91, 
which sounds as if they wanted men. All the 
Americans we see speak cheerfully of three to 
five years' preparation, but I can't believe it. 
Is n't it awful to think of Padua being bom- 
barded? Will there be anything beautiful left 
after this war? Even Jerusalem. We have heard 



^86 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

such wild stories about how they have defended 
Venice from air attacks, that there are lots and 
lots of balloons up over it, and that they have 
wires stretched between each two, and, of course, 
a wire, even if pretty fine, will wreck an aero- 
plane. It seems that these wires can't be seen 
very well. I do not know whether this is true or 
not, but a very nice doctor who had just come 
back from there told us. By the by, he is the 
doctor who now gives us one afternoon a week 
for our refugees; then Miss Neivin — one of the 
workers, and who has had some first-aid train- 
ing at home — can go into the homes afterwards 
and follow up the cases. 

I wonder if the Boches have really got some 
new atrocity to spring on us. Every one seems 
to think that they have. I can't see how they 
can have time to think up anything else. Did 
you hear about the mirrors used on submarines 
so that they are very hard to see? It sounds 
plausible. 

Lots and lots of love to you all. Tell John-on- 
the-corner, Mary Devlin, and all that I am look- 
ing forward to seeing them all in May. Tell 
Mrs. Dow that her candy is the best ever, and 
that it is in much better condition when she 
packs it in lead paper and in a tin box. Lots 
and lots of love again, and here's hoping that 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 287 

you are still alive after the eleventh page of 
rambling of your very-affectionate-and-looking- 
forward-to-being-home-soon 

Daughter, 

Mabje. 



XXX 

FROM ESTHER 

Thursday evening, January 31, 1918. 

Dearest Family: — 

Last night was it — the biggest raid they've 
ever had on Paris. When I think that at nine 
o'clock I was sitting up in bed with a sniffling 
cold, bemoaning the fact that I could n't seem 
to write anything but the stupidest sort of letter 
when I had a whole week packed full of events 
to tell you about — when I think of that, I don't 
know how I shall begin to tell you all to-night. 

Every one has been expecting an air raid on 
Paris for quite a time, and Sunday evening we 
were all set for it, for the moon was full, and it 
was the Kaiser's birthday, and we worked our 
intuitions to the utmost. Last night, when I 
snuggled down in my warm bed, I had forgotten 
all such possibilities. 

Suddenly I heard that siren that means one 
thing and one thing only. It 's a dismal, forebod- 
ing sound. There's also an "alerte," a sort of 
horn that blows at the same time, that sounds 
as though a fiend were putting his whole lungs 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 289 

into it. I did n't stir at first because I thought it 
might be a false alarm, but the siren and the 
alerte kept it up and kept it up, so that Marje 
and I, for curiosity's sake, slipped into our fur 
coats and went out on the balcony. We saw a 
few aeroplanes and rocket signals and heard a 
distant booming of gims. The street lights went 
out one by one and the tramways rumbled i)on- 
derously home from their last nocturnal journey. 

It was an ideal night — the moon had waned 
only a little and the stars were bright; but never 
did "the luster of midday to objects below" give 
such a desperate feeling of defenselessness as 
when we looked out across the Place and saw 
each tree and building stand out distinctly. 

The guns grew much louder. We turned to 
each other and said, "This is something new — 
we've never heard anything half so near in any 
other raid." We were thrilled. We went across 
to the other apartment to see if Hilda and Gay 
and Fiskey were taking it all in, and just as we 
stepped into Gay's room, two terrific crashes 
came. We all rushed out on Fiskey's balcony 
and stood there trembling with excitement. She 
and Hilda said that there had been two great 
flashes; Marje and I had been in Gay's room just 
at that instant, and were as mad as anything 
to have missed something. 



290 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

The five of us took our posts on the same bal- 
cony, where we had a superb view. Way to the 
left was the Eiffel Tower, invisible at that dis- 
tance, but certainly one of the goals of any air 
attack on account of being the greatest wireless 
station. To the north lay the Place de la Con- 
corde, with the heads of the Inter-Allied Con- 
ference resting, perhaps imeasily, in the H6tel 
Crillon. All the way to the Place d'ltalie, in the 
extreme east, we had the panorama of the sky, 
and you may believe there were five pairs of 
eyes that never missed a flash or a light. 

We counted as many as fifteen aeroplanes at 
once, flying in groups of threes or fours or widely 
separated. How thrilling to think that every 
little light meant a warm living, thinking, 
human being straining to the utmost — some 
for defense — some for destruction. We made 
wild speculations — were they French or Boche? 
Why should any have lights? The Boches must 
certainly want to come unobserved, and the 
French must certainly want to chase them with- 
out being seen. How can either side tell which 
is friend and which is enemy, lights or no lights? 
How can even an anti-aircraft gun hope to hit a 
tiny moving plane way up in the air? How can 
a moving plane hit another in the dark? Which 
of the deep booms were guns and which bombs? 




4 '^ ' J* 



The Air Raid on Paris on 





ight of January 30, 1918 



Copyyighl by Uudcmood &= Underwood, N.Y. 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 291 

This thought was dreadful. Bombs actually 
being dropped in the suburbs of Paris on build- 
ings, on our friends, on the refugees, on anybody. 

Suddenly a flash lit up the Place — the trees 
stood silhouetted against a red glare and an ex- 
plosion thundered out. It seemed just across the 
Place. I never shall forget it. We thought of the 
garage with the three Fords sleeping peacefully 
in it — but the flash was certainly farther to 
the left than Boulevard Saint-Jacques. We were 
speculating as to how far away in feet and inches 
it had hit, when hang I hang! — more bombs; 
funniest thing — we all took a backward step 
into Hannah's room. We saw a plane with a red 
light on it — certainly a Boche — fire his mi- 
trailleuse and then down fell another bomb. It 
was fascinating to see him so plainly, but as the 
sound of his engine became louder and we could 
see him flying towards us, one charge of fear 
went through me. To feel that an enemy is fly- 
ing right over you, ready any second to drop a 
bomb that will blow you and Marje and people 
you love and the house and the street and every- 
thing to flinders; to know that you can't do any- 
thing — that not even pulling the bedclothes up 
over your head is sure protection; to have to 
wait, wait, wait while you hear that throbbing 
motor, and then wait again to see whether he'll 



292 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

let go that instant or not — well, as Marje says, 
"It may be all right for the soldiers, but I feel 
distinctly like * women and children.'" 

It lasted two hours, and we stood there in our 
catch-as-catch-can costumes, trying not to feel 
the cold stone of the balcony through our kid 
night slippers. We were sure we smelled gun- 
powder, and some one suggested gas bombs — 
not exactly pleasant. The hum of aeroplanes 
was continual and the explosion of guns frequent. 
When one would be especially loud, some one 
would call out, "Attitudes of defense, girls — 
turn up your coat collars — here comes the 
Crown Prince!" "Have you on your Boston 
grips, Marje? — if so, no metal can touch you!" 
"Here, here, you great bonehead Boche, you 
came to get Lloyd George and Pershing and 
General Foch and that crowd — don't break up 
our happy little home life!" 

I got too tired and cold to stand out there any 
longer, so I took a nap on Hannah's bed until the 
bugle of "All danger's past" blew. You can't 
imagine how that sounds until once you 've seen 
the Germans come toward you and have felt 
yourself an insignificant, but a very much con- 
cerned, target. You never heard anything so 
full of joy! 

We adjourned to Hilda's room and the prac- 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 293 

tical spirits of the crowd soon had some solid 
alcohol burning and some Whitman's instan- 
taneous chocolate in the saucepan. It certainly 
went to the spot with toasterettes as an accom- 
paniment — and still another accompaniment 
of the bugle call growing fainter in the distance. 

We went to bed, and oh, how we slept! We 
have wanted to experience a real raid and now 
we have, and we've had one and that 's enough. 

This morning the maids brought in wild tales 
with our breakfast. The Ecole des Mines had 
been hit, on the Boulevard Saint-Michel. The 
morning papers said nothing. As the workers 
came strolling in to the Vestiaire, heavy-eyed 
from lack of sleep, but bursting with questions, 
we could get little definite news. 

Mile. Herzog and I started out hot-foot for 
the Ecole des Mines, hoping that the work would 
not grudge us half an hour for satisfying our 
curiosity. We found a big crowd, managed by 
a policeman standing in front of the Ecole, in 
which every window was broken. So was every 
window on both sides of the Boulevard for sev- 
eral hundred feet, and a big ragged hole beside 
the asphalt showed where the bomb had fallen. 
Things seem so different in the daytime — there 
were all the commonplace buildings, the tram, 
the policeman, the landmarks that we know so 



294 OVER PERISCOPE POND 

well, and yet the sidewalks were covered with 
broken glass and limbs of trees, and that big 
hole had been made by a real live Boche! 

It seemed fairly near home too — the spot is 
about as far from us as three New York short 
blocks, perhaps a little farther; but it does n't 
seem so far away to drop a bomb when some 
one has come all the way from Germany. 

During the day we heard of more places hit 
— a hospital near Place d'ltalie; a house where 
one child was buried alive; a cabman was killed 
somewhere, but not his horse. The worst dam- 
age was on the Avenue de la Grande Armee, 
where a three-story house was ruined. We hope 
to go over to-morrow at lunch-time and see. 
Thank Heaven, they missed the Arc de Tri- 
omphe. 

Doris Nevin, who had supper here with us 
to-night, went over to the Concorde at the end 
of the raid last night and saw the wreckage of 
a French machine which was burned up. 

The papers have headlines and long blank 
columns, so that we know nothing. They 
acknowledge twenty victims, though. The Ger- 
mans always attack two or three nights running, 
and the strain to-day has been the knowledge 
that they would come again to-night. But now 
one thing I know: that to-night Paris is deep in 



OVER PERISCOPE POND 295 

a fog that nothing can penetrate; that a mist 
which seems hardly more than air is protecting 
us as neither iron nor steel can do; and that no 
German can follow the shining rivers and lakes 
to attack us. Oh, to feel so safe! It makes me 
think of the Great Peace we shall have at the end 
of the war. If we can only all give our strength 
to have that come soon. 

With much love, 

Esther. 



THE END 



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